Saturday, August 23, 2008

Day two hundred and thirty three ... To live and die in the Granite State.

I live an exciting life.

Every day brings new surprises.

Like yesterday.

I was planning to have a nice, easy, relaxing, four-hour ride to Franconia, New Hampshire.

I was going to leave at 3:30 to make it there for 7:30.

At 2:30 I went out to my car to go shopping for my aunt.

I clicked my remote door opener like I always do.


That's weird.

What fun? A dead battery.

Why was my battery dead?

Because the interlock device that I have to blow into to start my car rests on my steering column. My steering column has a little fog-lamp button on it, and if I don't check every time I get out of the car to see if it had inadvertently been turned on by the placement of my interlock device, I run the risk of a dead battery.

Of all the days.

So, I search my ever-so-always-prepared aunt's premises and car for jumpers to no avail.

Next up ... AAA.

2:45 p. m.

They say they'll send someone out within the hour.

3:30 p.m. ... no sign yet.

3:40 p. m. ... still no sign.

3:45 p. m. ... here comes the cavalry.

4:00 p. m. ... On the road again.

The drive was beautiful and I got to listen to All Things Considered, as well as the second half of our Peter Pan silent film score which we will be revisiting next month. More on that in future installments.

7:40 p. m. ... "ring ... ring ... ring ...."

Scott Hall calls and says I just blew right by him on the highway.

Oh well, at least two of us will make it to the show.

It's nice to note when they spell our name right. It doesn't happen often.

The Cannon Mt. View is a nice, homey, friendly place run by Ray and Yvonne Friedrichson.

They gave us a couple of rooms and a couple of pizzas.

Pizza outside of New England is specious at best.

This pizza, being made in New England, proved to be especially good. Thanks guys.

The show was lively and powerful. Plenty of people dancing. And only one person came up in the middle of a song to ask us if we knew any Brad Paisley. There was plenty of dancing and shaking of the booty. It was nice to see, literally.

Steve had some especially good guitar improv moments. Just a few minutes ago, as I was sitting on the porch swing soaking up the wi-fi, he told me that last night he had been channeling the Big Buck deer hunting game that was over in my corner of the stage area. There's a part where turkeys fly around gobbling and flapping their wings. He said he was playing what he thought that would sound like. 

Inspiration comes in many forms.

We finished up and I retired to my room to watch some Olympic water polo.

Such a rock star.

The next morning I took a walk with Dave and Bow into town to see our buddy Mojo Joe who has a record/coffee store in town. 

One of the last times we were around, Joe told us about a farm that raises Myotonic, or fainting goats. It's their trademark thing. When the goat is startled, they freeze up and faint for ten seconds or so. I guess every animal has to have a gimmick. Well, anyway, we were sitting around the table late night and Bow came up with a name for Scott Hall's, Hall and Oates cover band called ... "Haulin' Goats." You kinda' had to be there. But as I say that, I guess you could just put one of these bumper stickers (which Joe's buddy made) on your car and make everyone wonder.

Confusion is a powerful force.

As we were walking back to the motel, Dave pointed this car out.

And then he pointed out what was keeping it from rolling down the incline.

A ski-boot.

Only in New Hampshire.

Bode Miller would be proud.

And speaking of Franconia's prodigal son. We were informed that Mr. "Championship Skier" Miller was at our show last night. Thing is, he wouldn't pay the $5 cover. The nice folks at the Cannon Mt. Tavern let him in anyway.

Times are tough, even for rich jerks.

And so, a dip in the pool, a soak in the hot tub (which was heaven for my sore shoulder) and a little lazing on the porch swing, and it's almost time to go play at Dow Field down the street. There's a gazebo there and they have live bands every weekend.

Maybe Bode will be there if he can bum a ride.

Oh, and I couldn't go without taking a picture of this.

Those crazy kids'll do anything for fun.

Maybe it was Bode? He must get awful bored in the summer.

Then again ...

Thanks for reading.

F. A. J.

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