Dang, is it Friday? This was both an oddly long and short week for me.
Thursday night I popped into the pub on the way home for a beer and to finish reading my book. I had not been in there since the new owners took over. They did some reworking, and it is a lot nicer in there, however they brightened the place up a bit. I miss the dank. I liked the dank, and nice dark dank corner for me to crawl into and enjoy my beer. Now it feels a little bit like an Irish pub you would see down at Disney or something. The same blonde bartender was there. She informed me that she was ‘sold with the bar’…heh.
Saturday I need to catch up on my neglected house cleaning and yard work. My front lawn looks hideous. All the weeds have sprouted up and although some of them are sporting some very pretty flowers, they are still overgrown weeds. Plus my lawn is a trash magnet. Every floating piece of trash in the hood seems to be drawn to my lawn. Between the weeds and a trash, all my lawn needs is an old stained mattress and a banjo-playing hillbilly.
Saturday, I also might walk down to the cat show taking place in Sanford. I went a couple of years back and was amused by all the bizarre cats they had there. Some of those cats where simply not meant to be. My favorite is the giant Main Coon cats. Those things are huge.
On the 19th I think I’ll ride down to Universal and see ‘Earth Wind and Fire’. I have been meaning to go see their Mardi Gras event since I can get in for free with my employee pass, but I never got around to doing it. They have been featuring a bunch of cheesy 80’s bands like Billy Idol and Heart and what have you. Earth Wind and Fire is the last act before Mardi gras is over, so I’ll wander down and catch the parade and see the show. Maybe bring a flask. Heh.
I need to unload my vardo from my truck so that I can use the truck for hauling crap again. To be honest I want to go on another trip with my vardo. I had such an excellent time snoozing in it during springfest. I was all nice and cozy in there. I was toying with the idea of making one more little overnight trip somewhere before the real heat of summer comes, but I have not thought of where yet.
Speaking of springfest, a couple more characters. On one side of our camping spot we had a guy named Wes set up. He did not just bring a tent, he brought an entire musical setup with electronic instruments and amps and everything. He plugged it all in at god-knows-where. I think there was an outlet down the road. At one point he told us that some prominent band members were going to drop by and jam with him, but most nights we just saw him either in there playing by himself or off hitting on the scenester girls that were camping next to him. It was not until the final night that he got some admirers gathered over to play with him. And then they ended up playing right until dawn. I did not mind it too much, they were playing a sort of trippy new age stuff, however that amp was cranked up to the point of vibrating the walls of my vardo, and I swear that most of the night the same basic tune did not seem to change, only a slight variation. Needless to say I did not get much sleep that night.
Wes was also the guy with the majic mojo drum. He had some sort of hexagon shaped drum that was sort of like an Irish bodhran, but was native American. I first noticed the drum when he was doing some ‘healing’ over the scenester girls by hitting the drum and then waving it over them. They were looking suitably impressed. At one point he came over and did it to me. I was not particularly impressed but I smiled and nodded to keep him from coming over to slit my throat in the middle of the night.
However, the point that was the most amusing for me was when Nick the dirty hippy stopped by and they were discussing Native American things, and both of them at one point had argued over ‘What my Indian friend said’. Because they both had a wise Indian friend. So it was sort of:
"Well My indian friend said..." blah blah blah
"Yeah well, *MY* indian friend said..." blah blah blah.
I'm dialing to April 4, 2008: Ed mourns a pub's dampness and dodges a drum that fails to heal him.
Ah, 2008: a bartender could be 'sold with the bar,' and the scariest thing at a festival was a man with a hexagon drum and an allegedly wise Native American buddy. Since then, that beloved dank pub corner has been scraped raw and rebranded as an elevated gastropub with Edison bulbs, exposed brick, and a QR code menu costing more than a small mortgage. The vardo Ed snoozed in is now glamping, complete with fairy lights, a charcuterie board, and a cancellation policy that would make a slumlord weep. The theme-park employee pass that let him stroll into Earth Wind & Fire? Today the same venue wants your firstborn child, your phone's location history, and a separate ticket tier just to smell the parking lot. Cat shows haven't died, but they're live-streamed by people talking over the judge while the cats plot revenge. And Wes the drum healer would never get to finish a 'healing'; someone would have him filmed, subtitled, and memeified by sunrise. The drum worked after all—it magically turned that whole era into content.
“2008 Ed, when Wes waved that drum over you and you smiled and nodded to avoid a midnight throat-slitting, did you ever stop to wonder whether the real threat was that he'd make you listen to one more round of 'well, MY Native American friend said...'?” — Beelzebubba the Third
2008 Ed: Well, Beelzebubba, you hit the nail right on the head. I spent that whole night thinking the real danger was Wes getting offended and doing some kind of mystic revenge dance on my vardo, but honestly? The bigger threat was another hour of “well, MY indian friend said...” with Nick nodding along like they were both experts on everything from sweat lodges to sage. I smiled and nodded through the drum thing because, hey, free healing, why not. But by the third round of the same looped tune vibrating the plywood walls, I would’ve gladly traded the throat-slitting for a little quiet. Maybe I should’ve asked him to wave that drum over my brain and cure me of ever camping next to a musician again. Heh. At least the bar got brighter, so that’s something.
