2010/06/08

Two-fer Tuesday

DaGoddess @ 04:00

I’ve gone country. Look at them boots! (Alan Jackson fans are groaning. I apologize.)

I hate to go the obvious route. It’s so easily avoided if you put in just a teeny bit of effort.

This week, we’re going with two men named Tracy. Tracy Lawrence and Tracy Byrd. Both excellent. Neither a major player in today’s version of country. I kind of like it that way. You get a double dose of the Two-fer this time around. No big stories. Nothing. Just music, baby.

Okay, maybe one really quick story. The last video resembles how some of my Saturday nights used to go back when I really was country. After hours parties at Cheryl’s, or Ed and Tater’s, or over at Don and Donna’s. Or some broken down place up the road. Didn’t matter. Whatever fun we were havin’ at the bar was carried on back to wherever. Booze flowed, guitars were played, and everyone sang and danced. On more than one occasion someone’s pool or hot tub filled with near-naked or totally naked people splashing around. And someone was always caught in a back room with someone they shouldn’t have been with. Thing was, somehow or another, the party continued.

See? Not such a long story after all. And now without further ado, here’s this week’s selections.

Tracy Lawrence:

Tracy Byrd:

PROMPTuesday #110 – The Haiku Queen

DaGoddess @ 01:19

I feel almost guilty about PROMPTuesday entry because I could do it in my sleep. Little do many of you know, but I moonlight as the Haiku Queen in a land far, far away. The pay is shit, of course, but I like the job.

So, dirty little secret haiku-style? Easy peasy.

Roar through the night sky
Immense solitary voice
Calling out to you

At first blush, the haiku doesn’t seem to be about my DLS, does it? The simple fact is, my secret is the haiku.

Okay, fine. Here’s another.

She has big knockers
That’s why they come to her door
For knockers of brass

And there you have it.

2010/06/07

0930 and 93 Degrees

DaGoddess @ 09:42

It’s expected to reach 109 here today.

Wanna bake some cookies on the sidewalk with me?

Note to Self #81,294,012

DaGoddess @ 05:11

Just because the lighting at a venue isn’t exactly as you wish doesn’t mean you need to shoot 1,100+ frames in the hopes that you’ll get one or two images you like.

At some point, you WILL have to sort through those and choose some to edit.

Dumbshit move on my part.

Subnote #81,294,012.a: Writing notes to yourself at 5am in pretty pathetic.
Subnote #81,294,012.b: Posting something on Facebook about their shitty free interface isn’t going to make it work any better.
Subnote #81,294,012.c: Better send thank you notes to the band for heading out onto the Strip after their gig at 0100 to indulge in a crazy idea you had.

2010/06/06

The Word

DaGoddess @ 05:58

The word of the day is: petard. 1. A small bell-shaped bomb used to breach a gate or wall.2. A loud firecracker. 3. or as an idiom: hoist by/with one’s own petard, hurt, ruined, or destroyed by the very device or plot one had intended for another.

This post was brought to you by the ghost of Rob Smith. (Don’t even ask.)

2010/06/04

DG’s Choice

DaGoddess @ 04:57

When you are asked to go hang out and talk music all night with a professional musician, you should just say yes.

The alternative is having your hands full of dishes and watching a cat vomit all over your purse, cell phone, table, and camera.

Fun times.

I will have to remember this lesson.

Doing dishes and cleaning up cat puke…or talking with people who know a thing or three about one of your favorite things in the whole world. Seems like a no brainer, doesn’t it?

2010/06/03

The Great Vegas Fruit Crisis

DaGoddess @ 04:00

Would you believe that I couldn’t find something as simple as lemonade in the grocery store the other day? Yeah. Totally. Guess Memorial weekend was The Big Lemonade Weekend. It was really weird.

Today I discovered there’s a cherry tree out in the backyard. With cherries. Only problem is that I could reach just one cherry. And it was absolutely delicious! Just one branch with all the fruit; I can’t reach any of it. Sure, I could try to use a ladder, but, c’mon. You know me and my track record. Put me on a ladder and it’s basically ensuring disaster. So I stood below the tree, bare feet on very pointy rocks, and gazed upward, praying for the fruit to fall off and into my hands. Didn’t happen.

Tomorrow I will endeavor to find lemonade and a way in which to retrieve those cherries.

What’s out of your reach these days?

Deadliest Catch – Season 6, Episode 8

DaGoddess @ 00:01

The hunt for opies is on! Last week, everyone battled ice and dumped their crab pots just to stay afloat. Some boats met with success, others didn’t. But we’ll get to that in a moment.

The Northwestern fell short of their fishing grounds by about 80 miles. The Cornelia Marie had to throw pots 160 miles away from their target. They were “making ice like a son of a bitch”. Self-preservation dictates dropping gear where you can. The problem with this tactic, though, is that the ice adds an unwanted buoyancy that cause the pots to land upside down, which allows the crab easy entry, a chance to eat the bait, and then an easy exit.

Amongst other health concerns, Captain Phil’s been working with three crushed discs in his back. 175 more pots to go. Three days at the wheel, dropping gear and then starting to pull it back in.

On the Kodiak, Wild Bill reached his preferred grounds and he’s pulling crab, but there’s a struggle with the count and with his greenhorn. Listening in from the wheelhouse, it’s apparent that Clinton’s attitude is poisoning the crew. Calling deck boss Adam in for a quick talk, Bill makes it known that he’ll be looking for a replacement in St. Paul.

Capt. Keith over on the Wizard is steaming toward his first opie string of the season. He set prospect pots on choice ground, north of the rest of the fleet. Greenhorn Paul was brought on board by Keith in the hopes that he’ll be the one to stick around. Six greenhorns in six years. The odds aren’t in Paul’s favor. They met when Paul served as a mountain guide for Keith in the off-season. Hopes are high, but only time will tell if the rugged outdoorsman is of the right stock for the vast Bering Sea. Average crab count is in the 200s. Art Peterson manages to avoid disaster on deck while hauling in a pot.

The Time Bandit heads to the reef on St. George, also known as the Washing Machine. North winds, north seas, in the trough, etc. Captain Andy dumped pots without bait just to stabilize the boat. The deckhands are busy while greenhorn Jeremy Shelton struggles to keep anything down. Seasickness has hit hard. Jeremy, Scott Hillstrand’s friend, wants to prove his worth and does his best to help out. He’s not doing all that well at the moment, though. The best advice anyone could give was “eat something, barf it up, eat some more, barf it up…you’re not gonna to puke it all up”. I don’t think the rogue wave helped any.

I find it curious that such a big deal is made of the seasickness when many of the seasoned crews still fight it as they head out to sea. It’s actually been mentioned on After the Catch and on the Discovery website that seasoned veterans often spend the first few days heading out with some serious communing with nature.

Northwestern Capt. Sig approaches his first string that’s been soaking 24 hours. Edgar’s bad back is slowing him down. First pot yields bairdi and small opies. Boats incur huge fines if they catch and keep the wrong species. Heavy crab sort slows everyone down. Edgar’s back isn’t helping… and now Sig feels the crew is taking advantage of the situation, taking too long to sort, bait, and set the pots again. The only thing to do to break the crew of their “habit-forming” pace is to jam gear down their throats. In the rush, Jake Anderson cuts himself with his cod knife. A quick patch job is all that was needed to get him back on deck, but Edgar, well that’s another story. All the delays are leaving Sig pissed, but determined, to get back to the grind.

With the Cornelia Marie, Phil’s back is acting up so Josh takes wheel watch. Phil spent three days at the wheel, and his reward is nada. Time to stack gear and move to the Rock Pile to try their luck there.

For Wild Bill and the Kodiak…13 hours of hauling gear is taking its toll. The last pot of the set has Bill questioning the crew once again since the numbers are not adding up, and there’s just no groove for the crew. Clinton’s days are most definitely numbered.

Wizard, more ice, more work, more searching for crab. Greenhorn is growing weary and Keith mentions that 33 year old greenhorns — anyone over 30 — odds aren’t good. Six greenhorns in six years, and the Wizard’s track record with newbies ain’t too good. Keith takes Paul off the bait and puts him on the rail to give him a break. It almost results in disaster, but he manages to escape being pulled over the rail.

The Time Bandit pulls its first pot and it’s bairdi. Andy needs to find some opilio fast. Jeremy is still ailing. Crew has to dump tote after tote down the chute. Andy gives Jeremy 50-50 odds on making it. “It’s all mental now.” Scott’s trying to cheer him on.

Interesting point to note: opilio and bairdi compete for territory, so if bairdi are plentiful, opies are light. Time to move on.

That’s it for this week. In the meantime, please stop by the Cornelia Marie site and read about visit some of the captains made to the Naval Medical Center while they were in San Diego filiming After the Catch last year. Thanks, Morgan, for keeping us in the loop!

2010/06/01

PROMPTuesday #109 – Sometimes We’re Better Off Not Knowing

DaGoddess @ 14:58

There was this story Deb was telling over on San Diego Momma the other day. An old house, a little mouse, a creepy basement, and a guy brandishing an axe. Doesn’t get much better than that, does it? Well, it could if we were to fictionalize a bit and that’s exactly what this week’s prompt is all about.

I’ll give you a moment to read the story and then come back for my take.

Done already? Okay. Good.
____

…the axe caught a glint of light as it was swung and it looked even more sinister in a way. The deep, dull thud as metal struck old wood resonated in my gut. It sounded sickly and altogether wrong. Surprisingly, the door remained intact and the axe seemed to bounce back a bit. Willy looked at us and we at him. I shrugged, ready to give up and have another beer. But the others insisted he keep trying; their curiosity about what was in the basement stronger than common sense.

Willy raised the axe again and took a swing. This time, a bit of the wood splintered in the center of the door.

“Oh come on, guys. Let’s stop. Do we really need to know what’s down there? Starr will freak if we chop the door to bits. C’mon. Let’s just have another beer,” I pleaded. I had a bad feeling about the whole thing. We could explain a little chunk of the door missing, but there’s no way we could possibly explain an entire door smashed to smithereens.

Willy looked at me and then back at the other girls. They urged him to continue. He looked back and me and I just turned away. I didn’t want to be a part of this and knew that even if I walked out that I’d still be just as responsible for the damage as everyone else.

So I stood there and watched as the axe found it’s mark a few more times, each resulting in a teeny scrap of wood falling to the ground.

And then something seemed to come over Willy. He went from our best guy friend to Jack from The Shining, complete with maniacal grin. The axe caught the light just right and it looked so sinister as it landed squarely in the middle of the chipped away section. Suddenly, the center of the door began to split open. We all jumped back as the sound of wood splintering filled the air around us. It was deafening.

A strange puff of air wafted toward us. Musty and kind of mean. Then there came a cloud of dust. It was dust, wasn’t it? It smelled far worse than dust, though. And the light. Light? Yes, a sickly yellow light wrapped itself around the dust and seemed to reach its bony fingers toward each of us. As it reached Willy, he fell to the floor, clutching at his throat. One by one, I saw each of my friends fall to the floor. I tried to dodge the snaky tendril headed my way, ducking, weaving, and bobbing like a prize fighter, all to no avail. My breath caught. I felt lightheaded. And then there was nothing but blackness before my eyes…and the sound of Starr laughing from a distance.

Two-fer Tuesday

DaGoddess @ 04:00

This week we take a look at the Great Albino Blues Invasion. No, that’s not mean or insensitve. I’m just stating the obvious.

Let’s begin with Johnny Winter, shall we?

Johnny’s first album for Columbia Records drew the largest advance in the history of the recording industry — a reported $600,000. For many blues artists, this didn’t sit well. Some white guy (some REALLY white white guy) was drawing this incredible amount of money for playing the music they’d created through their blood and sweat equity. It didn’t matter that blues legends Willie Dixon and Big Walter Horton recorded a track for the album. People were unhappy. One of the more vocal critics was Muddy Waters, a man Johnny considered a hero. However, in 1977, Winter finally got a chance to work with the one man he always lauded in concert. Johnny produced the very successful Hard Again for Muddy, followed by I’m Ready and King Bee. Muddy himself acknowledged Winter “…had done remarkable work in reproducing the sound and atmosphere of Waters’ vintage Chess Records recordings of the 1950s. The albums gave Waters the highest profile and greatest financial successes of his life.” Winter had done right by the man who influenced him. He’s been playing professionally for over 50 years and I can tell you from personal experience, the man still brings it.

Next up is Malford Milligan.

Milligan, probably best known for his stint with Storyville, which formed in 1994, his range is rather astounding. Not content to be categorized as a bluesman, he brings his talents to gospel, soul, rock, country, and whatever else you got for him. Malford’s voice is perfect. I’d listen to him read the phone book if given the chance.

Bonus video: