Blues Jam

Fun, as always.

Hubby had the camera long enough to snap a few of these pictures, including a couple of me with a Son. Who knew I'd end up the kind of mom to take her kids out to bars on a Saturday night? I'm glad it's working out that way. And yes, those are my feet, in the Shoe of the Day.

Really, if you live within a couple hours of the Happy Boondocks, you should come out, some night. But for the rest of you, here's a taste: not a recording from last night, but a song I enjoy every time they play it:

Sometimes, being a woman IS a qualification

Last night was Blues Jam. It was a quiet one, as often happens in summer. And although that disappointed a few people, the musicianship was on a decent level and fun was had by just about everyone. Also, as it turned out, I am very glad the bar was not full by the end of the evening.

I was driving. Since the accident, I am more aware than usual of things on the right-hand side of the car. Yeah, especially big, fast trucks that might want to jump out of the sky and crash into me. That's the only reason I can come up with for noticing the man on the side of the road, when Hubby did not.

He was lying in the ditch, his head resting in the gravel just a few inches from the line marking the edge of the road.

Hubby called 911 even before he reached the man. Fortunately, he was only passed out on the side of the road. He jumped up and started staggering away, arguing with Hubby.

"I'm not passed out, I'm on my way home."

Hubby explained that yeah, he was on his way home, and he should get in our car. But the guy was not having it. He was sure the police were coming, and equally sure that he was not all that drunk, he was just fine, Hubby didn't have to help him, everything was cool, he was not passed out or even sleeping on the side of the road, he was "just pissed off, so I left."

Hubby kept trying to get the guy to get in our car, as I slowly drove behind them with my hazard lights on. And I could tell: this guy was definitely not going to listen to Hubby. You could just see it in him:

"No way is this guy gonna tell ME I'm too drunk to walk home. I'm FINE."

He was oblivious. I don't think he even saw my car, behind him. And that is when it hit me: I have a secret weapon.

I leaned out the window and as sweetly as I could I said, "Hi, hon, can I give you a ride?"

"Sure. OK." And he hopped right in, as fast as Hubby could get the door open for him.

Turns out it was his 32nd birthday, and he'd been drinking since before noon, and had gotten into some sort of tiff at the bar we'd just left. It was a little after 1 a.m. He'd gotten about halfway home before settling, somehow, in the ditch by the side of the road.

Times like that, you don't need a man to help you. You don't need some guy making you feel like a lonely drunk on his birthday. What you need, maybe, is a woman.

I'm glad we were there.

Pounding Sand at Cryer's Back Road Inn, this Saturday

Plan ahead, all y'all, because Hubby's band, Pounding Sand, is playing at Cryer's Back Road Inn on January 24th.

I LOVE when Hubby plays at Cryer's. It's a great bar for dancing and Doug will be there. Which may lead to a small group of us Doing the Doug away from the Country Store Blues Jam. Can't miss that.

Classic and modern rock, some funky, danceable stuff, and the bass player most likely to get Penelope to move Stateside: it will be awesome. You should come.

Really, you should.

A taste of Pounding Sand

Hubby's band played the office Christmas party. Someone nudged the video camera, so you can't see the guitarist or the drummer or the fabulous banner I made, but you CAN see Hubby on bass, and what more do you need in concert footage? Next gig is at Cryer's Back Road Inn, on January 24th. You know you want to be there.

Pounding Sand at Cadillac Jack's

Hubby's latest band, Pounding Sand, played their first paying gig tonight.
The drummer's wife was there, and a few friends of the band, and a few other people, but basically it was a quiet night.

Except.

The singer's girlfriend's sister got beat up in the parking lot. Six police cars responded to the scene.

I got there after 5 of the cruisers had left, and realized that I have a plan in place for these situations: If you arrive at a bar with a cop car in the parking lot, park next to the cop car.

See? I am bolder than those people who might see a cop car and keep driving.

A guy we know arrived rather lit. He continued drinking. He danced with the singer's girlfriend, drank the drummer's wife's White Russian, told us all he wanted to get married but "didn't know how to make it happen", and then stumbled into someone carrying a tray full of drinks, so that the straw wedged itself behind his eyeglasses.

He left after that.

The group of us who came to see the band sat together while the band packed up and critiqued the evening. That's not something I usually do with anyone other than Hubby, but it was interesting none the less. It's good to hear other people's perspectives. For the most part, they agreed with me on what went well, and what went badly.

Now, Hubby is home, going over the tapes, and I am looking over the leftover Halloween candy. The bowl is suffering from continued overcrowding. I'll have to do something about that.

On a semi-related note, at one point the guitarist, embarrassed by a mistake he made, said, "I'm not getting laid, tonight!" and Hubby leaned into his microphone and said, "But I will."

I think I have become altogether too predictable. Not that I'm going to change on that score!

Holy Mary, Mother of Hair Metal

We were invited to a party last night. Hubby's old band was the entertainment. And boy, were we entertained, in a perverse, schadenfreudey kinda way. Because since they gave Hubby the boot, they have become...an 80s hair metal band.

Actually, although the music they play is not what you'd call...great, they execute it pretty well. So, no real complaints there, and I think we both wish them well.

But the best part of all was seeing the Mother of Our Lord, front-and-center. Who knew she liked Def Leppard?

(Pour some sugar on mehhhhh, in the name of God! Pour some sugar on mehhhh....I'm made of concreeeete, from my head down to my feet, yeah!)

I'm sorry, it just is funny.

Can't Say They Didn't Warn You

For those of you who do not live in the Happy Boondocks with me: We live in a Navy town. Lots of non-military people still make a living off the water.

And yes, that is a strip joint in the background.

I laughed all the way home.

Greenbelt Blues Festival! WOOOOO!

A day of live blues music.
For FREE.
Outside, where I can bring the Sons.
All arranged by a dear friend who, on top of everything else, rushes home from seeing me to tell his girlfriend I look HOT.

For the love of God and all that is holy, WHY ON EARTH would I not be excited about attending the Greenbelt Blues Festival this Saturday?

I know my friend Greed can't be there. Something about a grandchild's first birthday. OK. But the rest of you? You have no excuse. Even you, Penelope. Bass players abound. Totally worth the transatlantic flight. You can crash on our couch, and play backgammon with Hubby.

I mused aloud to a friend of mine, the other day, "Hmmmm....I wonder if I will have the nerve to dance at the Festival in front of my kids, the way I do at Blues Jam at the Country Store? He did not even have to think.

"No. You won't. Ha!"

Probably for the best. Right, Greed?

He's traded in his 40-year-old for a pair of 16-year-olds

Ever since last summer, when I took the boys to a barbecue and music festival, Son #1 has been asking when he can see ACME Blues Company again.

WHYYYY can't I go?

WHYYYYYY can't I go, just because it's in a bar?

WHHHYYYYYY can't I go, just because you hang out with your old people friends when you go see them?

WHENNNNNN can I go see them again?

He guarantees me that he would do ANYTHING to go. That he loves their music (and he, like all the Sons, does indeed sing along to the entire CD.) And as a budding left-handed bassist, he says that he would "go all Fan Girl on Wolf," ACME's left-handed bass player.

This weekend, the younger two Sons are out of town. And ACME is playing, just about 40 minutes from home. A little far for me to go alone, but...it is not a bar. It is an actual RESTAURANT. With no dance floor, but, I can bring teens.

He was all hot to go. Really looking forward to it. And then.

Some girls he know invited him to a concert at their school.

Suddenly, he is not going. Which may mean I am not going. Because, of course, I will be required to transport Sons #1 and 2 to this concert.

AND THEY FULLY ADMIT THE BANDS WILL PALE IN COMPARISON.

Ugh, the injustice. And to think: 12 years ago, he handed me a Ring Pop and asked me to marry him.

One good thing, this weekend, thanks to MySpace

Lately I've been feeling frustrated and a bit morose. Things just aren't going Precisely According To My Plans, and I am cranky about it. (Yeah, I know, Boo Freakin' Hoo).

This weekend, though, something kinda cool happened.

Ya know how sometimes you meet someone, and you know you'd like them if you got to know them? But you don't always have a chance TO get to know them?

Well, a few months ago I met someone. A friend's girlfriend. And I knew, just on sight, that I would like her. Maybe I was influenced by all the nice things he says about her, but maybe it was just recognizing her for who she is, even without a lot of data to back me up.

Anyway, the other day I posted a comment on someone's blog, and the girlfriend's friend emailed me about it. She and I had never really talked, before, beyond "Hi! Great Show!" (Her boyfriend is the singer for THAT BAND THAT I TALK ABOUT ALL THE TIME OH GOD CHRISTINE SHUT UP ALREADY ABOUT ACME BLUES COMPANY FOR THE LOVE OF CHRIST!) But we ended up emailing back and forth all weekend.

We have a lot in common. We like each other. We make each other laugh. It's great, meeting a new friend.

So,

Hi Amy! Welcome to the blog! Hope you still like me, after you read all my crap!

For Matt: A shirt and a song

Matt had an exceptionally crappy day, yesterday. I can't do a damn thing to fix any of it. But ever since he read about the shirt that Son #1's teacher thinks looks gay, he's wanted to see it. So, here it is:



And also for you, Matt, a little Reverend Horton Heat. Points to whomever can name the song first.

Calling All Locals: Ya Gotta Plan Ahead

Thursday is Blues Jam at the Country Store. Saturday is the ACME Blues Company show, also at the Country Store. I don't have to embed links because it's all over there----------------> in the sidebar.

I will be there (you know this like you know your own name). YOU should be there.

We are nearly a month into the smoking ban, so you nonsmokers have no excuse. On the bright side, that also means that if you don't show up I'll finally realize that the smoke was just an excuse, and I'll stop telling you that you should come out with me.

Even Better than a Bar Bathroom

The Lobster Claw Machine!
The Country Store used to have one of these--put in $2 in quarters and take your chance on bringing home a live lobster. But, they wouldn't COOK it for you, so you had to carry Pinchy home, yourself. It was not a big moneymaker, so they got rid of it before I had a chance to take a picture. Much sorrow and regret ensued.

Last night I was there for Blues Open Mic and the lobsters are back! This has got to be the most hilarious thing, ever.

What A Woman Needs

Bling so blingy, it's a little embarrassing


A Chance to Cut Loose (that's me, on the left)


An Interest Other People Don't Care About (this would be my beloved ACME, although if you heard them you would love them, too)


A Healthy Habit


Someone Intimidating (In this case, brother-in-law's fiancee)


An Animal (this, by the way, is Jake)


A Vice


Serious, take-no-prisoners, FM shoes (yes, that IS a pair of 8-inch platforms, in the back)


The Big Closet

And, of course, girlfriends to keep her from totally losing it.

For Jill: The Country Store

As you know, I love the Country Store. I get my blues fix there at least twice a month, and sometimes even more than that. There is plenty of grab-assing and dancing to be had. The food is awesome. And there is one more thing...

Though the men's room often has a long line, there is almost never a line, for the ladies' room.

Often, I will slide right in to the ladies', confident I can spend all the time I want reapplying my lip gloss because there's no one hopping from foot to foot outside the door.

If, however, you happen to be stuck in line, I have provided Entertainment. I made a couple of collages of my Blues Open Mic photos and hung them on the wall, across from the restrooms. Feel free to peruse, and loudly compliment them.

They also have a wide variety of nice liquid soaps, if you're into that.

Other than that, it's just a bar bathroom, but I know Jill is especially fond of those, so Here You Go, Jill.

Poky Redhead also will benefit from this particular post. SEE, I CAN INDEED wear a hat with a feather in it and not look like a pimp. Or one of those Red Hat people.

Geno Didn't Mention and "Moose: a Three Strikes Story"

Last night I went to the Moose lodge to see my buddy Geno's band. They played a lot of old-school rock & roll, a couple of country tunes, Brick House, you know, fun stuff. Most of it was stuff the boys knew, too, so I noticed a couple of Sons singing along. I almost got a couple of them up on the dance floor, too, but...dancing with your mom is social death, and I wasn't going to push it.

I got to introduce the Sons to Geno, suitably transformed from "Christine's Fun Friend" to "Mr Mears Who Knows How To Act Around Children"--a transformation not every adult manages with grace.

The rest of the band was happy to talk music with Son #1, which was very cool. And the Sons shot pool. So the combination of pool and live music pretty much had us stoked, as a group. They even got along, mostly, which was a relief.

What Geno didn't mention, though, surprised me. Geno can sing.

He has been coming to Open Mic for months, playing great guitar, and keeping his lips zipped. But the man has a beautiful voice. GENO, NO MORE HOLDING OUT AT OPEN MIC.

And now, on to The Moose.

Years ago, when I was not even a teenager, I think, my father's boss insisted he join the Moose. And so he did. He ended up attending a lot of functions at the Moose lodge, because that's where his boss liked to do business, and Dad knew how the game was played.

The Moose, however, had a policy. "Moosettes", aka Wives of Moose Members, were only allowed in the front of the lodge. So, my mother could go sit around the bar with the other Second Class Moose Citizens, while Dad and his boss did Secret Moose Stuff in back, or she could stay home.

She chose, mostly, a third way, in which she taught me and my sister moose calls and a Secret Moose Handshake which we all used as my father left for his Moose meetings. It is very possible that the Moose has changed their policy on women, in the 25 or so years since Dad joined the Moose, but I don't know. When Dad's boss retired, Dad stopped going to the lodge. It wasn't all that fun, anyway, and Mom of course had us all Moose calling as a reflex.

Flash Forward to 1987...Christine, wearing a Cheap Trick t-shirt, most likely, brings Bash home for Thanksgiving weekend, and he proposes. My mother finally sees a use for the Moose: we can use their lodge for our wedding reception.

Except.

Two of my bridesmaids were not, apparently, suitable Moose guests. They were not eligible to enter the lodge, at all. Not the bar, where the wives cooled their heels, and certainly not the holy of holies which was the back room where receptions took place.

My dad officially quit the Moose, the day they told him he couldn't use the facility for my wedding reception because two of my bridesmaids were black. We all stopped Moose calling, and retired the secret handshake, and I for one was proud of Dad for taking a stand. Bigots. This was the late eighties, remember? As the Sons would say, "Cracker, pleeeease."

Again, it is very possible that the Moose have changed that policy, as well. I seem to remember a lawsuit, a few years back, that opened up the Moose for African-American members. But, you know, Two Strikes in my mind, against the Moose. Honestly, I never would have gone to a Moose lodge, if it were not Geno, and live music the Sons could hear.

And then, last night.

As I've said, Geno & band were great. We had a great time. Hubby came late, because he was auditioning a new lead guitarist for his own band. But about 10 minutes after Hubby arrived, they kicked me and the Sons out of the building. Apparently they noticed that they have a "no kids after 9" policy.

I think what they noticed was, I was a band Fan, not a band Wife. So all those kids shooting pool and bobbing their heads to the music were not there to support their dad, but instead were Breathing Moose Air Without Having Moose Cred. I will lay you odds, if Hubby had not shown up, they would have continued assuming I was there With Geno, instead of just To See Geno, if you know what I mean. And we would have seen the whole show.

But, hey, I have no problem with the "no kids around the bar after 9" concept, so we were out of there faster than I could even say goodbye to Geno.

(Goodbye, Geno!)

About 5 minutes later, I got a call on my cell phone from Hubby. He'd been kicked out of the lodge, too.

"ARE YOU A MOOSE MEMBER?"

Hubby explained that while he was not a Moose, he was with the band, and was going to join them on stage for a few songs. That cut no ice, with the Moose. Out on the street he went, after perhaps 15 minutes of Breathing Moose Air and Observing the Mighty Allure of the Moosettes.

Hubby and I, we are done with the Moose. But Geno, we love.

Let's pack the Moose lodge!

My friend Geno's band, Four of a Kind, is playing at the Mechanicsville Moose Lodge this Friday night. Geno is a great lead guitarist (I know this from Open Mic Night) and a lot of fun (I also know THAT from Open Mic Night).

The show is from 8-midnight, and YOU CAN BRING KIDS. So, I'm bringing Hubby & the Sons, and Fiddlin' Writer is probably coming, also, with her two.

Those of you who are residents of the Happy Boondocks must, by now, be absolutely vibrating with excitement. Christine! Hubby! FW! Six boys! Geno!

In short, Christine knows where the fun is. So, come with us. Have some fun.

Male readers, please feel free to walk around the cabin

Because right now, I am in Female Panic Mode. Why? Because I weighed myself yesterday, as I do each month, and I have gained 2 lbs.

Two damn pounds, and I feel like I need to breathe into a paper bag.

"Look," I tell myself. "I am a happily married, educated, financially secure woman with healthy, happy children and a budding career. My parents are healthy. My sister is dating someone who may end up part of the family. I love my blog (and people read it!). I get to go out, a couple times a month, to dance to music I enjoy and hang out with Hubby and have my ass grabbed (literally and figuratively) by guys who tell me how hot I am. I have friends I love, who love me back. I am, in short, in an enviable spot in life."

But what do I remember?

TWO POUNDS.

Gah. No wonder men think women are crazy.

For Jill

This is the ladies' room at Boatman's Point Lookout, in Ridge, MD. I don't know why it is vertical in Shutterfly Studio AND Canon Image Browser, but comes out horizontal on the blog. So, please to tilt your head.

It doesn't look like much, but apparently it is a romantic hot spot. I know this because I spent quite a bit of time waiting for that couple to come out, so I could enter.

Musician's Wife

Hubby is playing a gig tonight. I am waiting for my curling iron to heat up, so I can be all fabu for tonight, while he packs up his gig bag.

And I've been thinking, lately: How did I end up a musician's wife? I mean, I think it's great. I LOVE going to see Hubby play. And I love listening to him practice, too. It's fun for me, and it's great to see him having fun. So no complaints. But I never dated a musician, before I met Hubby, and he wasn't playing in a band, when we met. How did I get here?

This is all I can come up with, at this point. Fellow musician's wives, please add to the list:

-I genuinely enjoy listening to the same bass line, all afternoon, until he gets it right.
-I have batteries and rubber bands, at all times.
-I gladly go out any night of the week and see, essentially, the same show.
-When women dance with Hubby's microphone, I smile at them...I may then dance BETWEEN them and said microphone, but I don't act snarky just 'cause Hubby is hot.
-I have a minivan. Which is great for last-minute runs to get the other instrument, another guitar stand, several jugs of iced tea, a throne for the drummer who forgot his, and a better shirt.
-When Hubby's band is playing, and any other band is also playing, I go see Hubby's band (and I usually keep my mouth shut about the other band, although I have been known to kvetch a little).
-I will dance with anything. Drunk, toothless, old, in a wheelchair, shorter than me (which is an achievement), whatever. I am all about getting people on the dance floor.
-I can say "Woooooo!" "Wooooooo!" is like "Aloha", for bars. It means anything and everything.
-I keep frozen pizza in the house at all times, so the Sons won't starve while I'm out partying
-I know what everyone in the band drinks, so I can run to the bar for them
-I hug all the drunken women

There's probably more that should be on the list. I'll be thinking, on my way to Boatman's tonight.

Oh, and one more thing: When Hubby and I had only been dating a few weeks, I took him to a music store and bought him a guitar. I had no idea this was crazy behavior. He, however, INSISTED that he pay me back. Which he did.

Years later, he explained that musicians are known for using their girlfriends to support their musical habit. He didn't want to give me the wrong impression. Which was very sweet of him.

The guitar was destroyed while we lived overseas, but he still has the memory of me stroking that check, in Chuck Levin's. I think maybe that made me a Musician's Wife Candidate.

Wooooooo!