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Forms

I think it would be nice to get a contract law degree on the side, because I hate signing forms whose sole purpose is to screw me over legally. And the most dreadful of these: the waiver. I understand that these are even questionable legally, and yet I still get anxious when putting my Johnny H on the bottom of some form that says Company X has the right to do anything they would like including harvesting my organs and using my house for parties while I recuperate, whilst I am legally bound to sit there and take it. Screw that!

Recently, I had to fill out a waiver for an upcoming softball tournament. They helpfully sent it to us as a Word document for us to print out and sign. I can’t pass up such an inviting opportunity to take back some rights. Where I supposedly declared my absolution of all guilt on behalf of the organizer, I slipped in a few words that make the whole waiver rather useless to them (“unless the undersigned agrees…”). Then, just to make sure no one was reading it, I made the following additional edits:

I further understand that consumption of alcoholic beverages will be monitored and if necessary, police officers may assist in escorting any overly intoxicated individual off the premises
became:
I further understand that consumption of alcoholic beverages will be monitored and if necessary, police officers may assist in intoxicating any overly escorted individual off the premises.

And:

[the risks] include those foreseen and unforseen, known and unknown
became:
[the risks] include those foreseen and unforseen, in universes known and unknown.

Minor edits that I doubt anyone will read anyway, but it will be nice if I can compel the local police to help me get drunk.

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Weekend

So, the weekend was a smash. It began on Saturday (as many weekends do), with the fun that is removing kitchen cabinets. Armed with a crowbar, an electric screwdriver, and a healthy disregard for safety, Angeline and I tore into the melamine boxes, liberating screws and nails from twenty years of servitude. In the space of a couple of hours, we pulled out all of the base cabinets, the countertop, and the range hood. We then took a break and screened Jerome’s new favorite movie, Wedding Crashers. I concur with his review.

The next morning I unwired all of the appliances in preparation for the arrival of hired hands Scott and Jerome. I didn’t even electrocute myself. After help arrived, we drew on Scott’s extensive mechanical engineering background and J’s immense skill in belt-tightening to move the big stuff in about half an hour. Then we chatted a bit over a beer and an orange (it’s a breakfast drink). I’d blog more about this but it really deserves a podcast.

Sunday evening I went to go see the Dragonflys [sic]. I went solo but had a great time anyway. The State was sparsely populated, so I was one of only maybe half a dozen people in the dance floor area — most other patrons had taken a table. Barraco joked, “what is this, dinner theater?” I situated myself just to the left of Jimmy Herring’s monitor, directly in front of the stage (a convenient place, by the way, to rest one’s Sam Adams). This ensured the mix that I heard was about 95% Jimmy’s Super Reverb and 5% everyone else. They played a lot of the tunes from the CD which I am completely unfamiliar with (note, Jimmy does not appear on the recording), but there were also a few blues and jam tunes on which the band wailed. In fact the only song I recognized was a perfect cover of Steely Dan’s Kid Charlemagne. Larry Carlton’s solo on that song is widely considered one of the best rock solos of all time, and Jimmy resisted the urge to go crazy, playing the solos note for note. On other tunes, Herring played firey jazz lines, always with a wry smile peeking out under his beard, and at times full on laughter when he and another band member would quote each other’s phrases. I couldn’t hear Barraco that well, but he is a fine keyboard player with a good voice. The bandmates connected for tight vocal harmonies and plenty of rhythmic and melodic interest. In all, the show was well worth the $13 and if Jimmy ever blows up, I’m going to miss being able to watch from ten feet away.

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That guy named after fish

People often ask me to recommend new music. They ask, I presume, because radio sucks now, and because, as a musician, I must have my fingers on the pulse of the underground. Unfortunately, my few musical discoveries have been more or less serendipitous, or else the artists that I do like are not accessible to the average non-musician. (My mom once said of a frenetic Coltrane solo, “That sounds like a bunch of noise.” “Of course,” I replied.)

But here is a brand new band, whom I haven’t ever heard, yet who I know will destroy every other band in their path. Called The Dragonflys (yes, spelled thus), the band features Jimmy Herring on guitar and Rob Barraco on keys, both of The Dead and many other bands. I have waxed rhapsodic about Jimmy Herring before, so I’ll neglect to do so again. But this weekend’s show at The State Theater is going to be an amazing set, and I’ll stake a pile of cash on that without having listened to a single Dragonflys track.

Dragonflys. The State. Sunday. 8:30pm. I encourage both of my readers to attend.

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Philadelphia

Angeline and I spent yesterday afternoon in the home of Will Smith and Benjamin “DJ Bizzy” Franklin: Philadelphia, PA. Unfortunately I forgot my camera, so you don’t get any pictures. This being my first visit to Philly, we had to go see the large, bronze, cracked…hot steamy bread with gooey cheesy meat and onions … where was I? Oh yes, the Liberty Bell. So we looked at the bell, then headed off for lunch.

After much research we decided to try out Jim’s on 4th and South for an authentic bite. Much has been said by Philly natives about how there is something special about their sandwiches that can’t be duplicated in any other place, but I think this is mostly bunk. That said, Jim’s may well have taken the top spot on my list. The differentiating factor is mainly the rolls, and Jim doesn’t disappoint on that score.

After lunch, we hit the Rodin museum. Here you can see one of the casts of The Thinker, the Gates of Hell, and lots of hands and people in uncomfortable somersault embraces. Victor Hugo figures prominently. And there’s a walrus-looking thing by some lesser sculptor, too.

Anyway, Philadelphia is a nice city and worth the occasional three hour drive. I’m sure I’ll be back sometime this year.

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Salt

One other observation about Ohio: fully half of my meals on my trip were the saltiest meals I’d ever eaten. Now, I am a connoisseur of salt. I like it. I have three different types of salt in my pantry. But this… this is too much. I’m not sure if this is a regional thing, or whether I just got unlucky, but it’s surprising that I didn’t undergo wholesale plasmolysis and dry up to a tiny wrinkled husk.

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EJ

Last night I went to go see the guitarist Eric Johnson. This makes the fifth show of his that I’ve seen. It was a decent show, but I don’t think EJ brought anything new to this tour. He has a new CD out (I haven’t heard it) and most of the selections he played from it were less than stellar, except “12 to 12” which has been in his setlist for years. Anyway, he played lots of Ah Via stuff including “Cliffs of Dover” which I am happy to learn is hybrid picked. String skipping that intro is damn near impossible.

I’m also coming to the realization that EJ can’t improvise his way out of a paper bag. The protracted opening to “Cliffs” had no direction apart from “play a set of dispersed triads in a random key center and then play a fast descending pentatonic lick.” Melodic development in many of his solos was absent, which is a shame because the guy does possess the ability to write good lines (see Manhattan’s non-improvised jazz solo).

What did make the ticket price worthwhile was opener Josh Dion Band. Dion is a energetic singer/drummer with great chops on both sides of the slash. His band, a seven person crew with keys, bass, guitar, and three backup singers, delivered a high powered set of funk that never flagged. I’m looking forward to seeing these guys again.

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Ohio

I’ve been derelict in my duties to describe the magic of Ohio. So I’ll let you know when I figure it out. Just kidding. Canton is nice enough, the people are friendly except for the guy at Radio Shack, and where else can you visit the home of Goodyear, the birthplace of Hoover vacuum cleaners, and the Pro football hall of fame all in one day? I didn’t manage to visit any of these though.

On July 1st I hit the road about 3pm. The trip was supposed to take about seven hours; it ultimately took eight and a half. Congratulations to the highway designer who saved so many taxpayer dollars by making the only road out of town a single-laner. I arrived at 11:30, crashed. I spent most of the next morning just driving around the vast shopping mall that is North Canton.

Of course the real magic that drew me there was the official legal union between Scott and Jill. Their wedding was lovely and I know they will have a wonderful life together. Also it was good to see a number of people whom I haven’t seen in a while; I shall have to do a better job so that we don’t have to make a 14 hour round trip to catch up. I forgot my camera so no pictures this time.

I resisted the urge to make a side trip to Cleveland on Sunday to see plastinated corpses and the rock & roll hall of fame. Perhaps next time I am in town.

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k-rad

build.ejb.classes:
[javac] Compiling 1337 source files to /home/bob/projects/...

Heh. In other news, I am playing around with greasemonkey. Finally, a use for javascript! I’ve already fixed the brain-dead handling of attachments with MS Outlook’s web interface, where it tells you that PDFs are too dangerous to launch directly, whereas you can click on Word and Excel files with no problems.

And with that I’m off to Ohio this weekend. If anyone can recommend roadside attractions along the PA turnpike, let’s hear ’em. Ok, didn’t think so.

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Marchings

I dropped my car off at my Honda dealer this morning. Whenever they ask me which car is mine, I point and say, “the gold Honda.” I do this quite unintentionally, but I still think it’s funny to indicate the make in a lot full of identical cars.

So last night I went to see the Marines’ silent drill platoon and drum and bugle corps. As seen on hit CBS television series Major Dad. They perform every Tuesday night at the Iwo Jima memorial from now until August; if you go in for pomp and celebration of military discipline, this show is for you. The marines walk around, spin rifles, throw them to each other, right face, about face, left face, right flank, forward hut, all without verbal command. The drill platoon, as far as I could tell, was practically flawless. I watched the drum and bugle corps with a more critical eye, since I once pretended to know something about marching band. The band had nice drill, maybe not top tier of competitive D&B, but some complicated formations and none of that standing around business. Musically it was… insert Groucho Marx comment about military music here. The poor lead trumpet was having a rough night, missing a couple of notes (both, of course, off the charts of anything I ever played). But who cares, it was fun and it didn’t rain, much.