Jenny, Jenny, who can I turn to?
You give me something
I can hold on to
I lay in bed, restless...
It had been a good night.
Tricky, Janelle and Caitlin (sp?) came by. So did Bells, Alicia and Aden.
We made barbecue pulled pork sandwiches, slow-cooked, all day.
(The pork was rubbed with a ton of garlic, salt, pepper and onion and cooked on low heat in a crock pot all day. Near the end, it was taken out, pulled apart, and put back into the crock pot with a half bottle of barbecue sauce to simmer. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, it was good.
And when I say Jesus, I mean Jesus, riding a Harley across a farmer's field and pulling up to a Skynrd concert circa 1979 and walking straight up to the front row, unobstructed, floating on the power and glory of slow-cooked pork.)
There was corn on the cob, grilled in the husk, broccoli slaw with craisins and sesame seeds. Frozen lemonade drinks were flying around.
Before everyone came, I spent some time teaching Bells to play bass on a couple of songs. Namely, Of The Girl (Pearl Jam) and Let My Love Open the Door (Pete Townshend). They both sound pretty good when we play really dialed down, acoustic.
That reminds me of my favorite part of last weekend.
Alex, my classmate, and his wife Jenny came to the party at my parents' house on Sunday. He is a really kick-ass guitar player. (And, this is no coincidence, the newest member of the Mitten). He brought his guitar, and I had rousted up a twelve-string and an acoustic. I mean, why not?
It was probably the only time we will ever have that many members of the Mitten together on a back patio, looking at a lake in the Dam, no less. We had Tony, Bells, Stanette, Carp, K-Top, Alex and me. We were only missing Quagmire by one day (he left that morning) and Aden.
Like I said, Alex is a hell of a guitar player. After dinner, when the sun went down and everyone was sufficiently lubricated, Alex's wife, Jenny said, "Play my song."
So Alex busted out 867-5309 (Jenny). Perfectly. And evvvveryone sang evvvvvery word. Trust me when I say it was good. Out of a weekend packed with stellar moments, it was my favorite.
But anyway, back to my restless night...
I arose, knowing.
I had been overtaken, nay, seized, by the urge.
Seized by the urge to floss.
To venture into the dark places where evil dwells.
"Evil," you say?
"Flossing?"
Verily, I say unto thee.
Evil.
"Evil?"
Yes.
Have you smelled floss?
If that's not evil, I don't know what is.
It had been a good night.
Tricky, Janelle and Caitlin (sp?) came by. So did Bells, Alicia and Aden.
We made barbecue pulled pork sandwiches, slow-cooked, all day.
(The pork was rubbed with a ton of garlic, salt, pepper and onion and cooked on low heat in a crock pot all day. Near the end, it was taken out, pulled apart, and put back into the crock pot with a half bottle of barbecue sauce to simmer. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, it was good.
And when I say Jesus, I mean Jesus, riding a Harley across a farmer's field and pulling up to a Skynrd concert circa 1979 and walking straight up to the front row, unobstructed, floating on the power and glory of slow-cooked pork.)
There was corn on the cob, grilled in the husk, broccoli slaw with craisins and sesame seeds. Frozen lemonade drinks were flying around.
Before everyone came, I spent some time teaching Bells to play bass on a couple of songs. Namely, Of The Girl (Pearl Jam) and Let My Love Open the Door (Pete Townshend). They both sound pretty good when we play really dialed down, acoustic.
That reminds me of my favorite part of last weekend.
Alex, my classmate, and his wife Jenny came to the party at my parents' house on Sunday. He is a really kick-ass guitar player. (And, this is no coincidence, the newest member of the Mitten). He brought his guitar, and I had rousted up a twelve-string and an acoustic. I mean, why not?
It was probably the only time we will ever have that many members of the Mitten together on a back patio, looking at a lake in the Dam, no less. We had Tony, Bells, Stanette, Carp, K-Top, Alex and me. We were only missing Quagmire by one day (he left that morning) and Aden.
Like I said, Alex is a hell of a guitar player. After dinner, when the sun went down and everyone was sufficiently lubricated, Alex's wife, Jenny said, "Play my song."
So Alex busted out 867-5309 (Jenny). Perfectly. And evvvveryone sang evvvvvery word. Trust me when I say it was good. Out of a weekend packed with stellar moments, it was my favorite.
But anyway, back to my restless night...
I arose, knowing.
I had been overtaken, nay, seized, by the urge.
Seized by the urge to floss.
To venture into the dark places where evil dwells.
"Evil," you say?
"Flossing?"
Verily, I say unto thee.
Evil.
"Evil?"
Yes.
Have you smelled floss?
If that's not evil, I don't know what is.
posted by Joe at
12:33 AM
2 Comments:
This urge to floss of yours...not such a bad one,eh?
It's not so evil of a smell before it's used.Once you floss all the good out of the waxy fiber though,all that remains is what you couldn't masticate efficiently enough or thoroughly enough. As Elvis would say.." Just look at all the babies we killed.."
If babies were strands of pork and Elvis wasn't high on a various number of narcotics that would make prefect sense.
Joe,
I am a kinda friend of Tommy Tutone. He is marrying my best friends sister in law. He comes over occasionally when in town to see the neighbors. We had him at a summer bbq last summer, even had the cops show up to see if it was really him. I will link some photos when I find them.
Angus (Brian)
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