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Yesterday after a little sugarin' (I went with everyone to the first shack, with the ginormous Belgian horses pulling the cart to the OMFG complex grade B ambrosia at the end. Bought a big jug of that stuff, yep), I got out of the house with my guitar and amp and pedals in hand, to hang out with a local guitarist who happens to play in the Grateful Dead cover band I saw just last week. We knew of each other thanks to, natch, an Internet guitar geek forum where cork-sniffing tube elitists argue the merits of different bits of kit. Go internet go.

As Anne would say, "FINALLY."

We started playing and all of a sudden 5 hours had passed. Unsurprisingly, my exorbitant rig sounded completely and utterly ill even at neighborhood volume. Somewhat surprisingly, all these years of woodshedding have finally started to pay off in the hands/ears/chops department. We were both listening to each other and navigated our way through some very satisfying grooves and segues within the canonical "open jam goes HERE" songs in the repertoire. D. has a high gear he can take his solos to that I haven't got but that's a "feeding off the dynamics of playing with others" thing that is my next big learning challenge.

It was awesome. We're going to do it again. and D. is plugged into the local scene in a way that should lead to more opportunities to jam, hopefully culminating in an actual steady gig. So that's the plan.

I had a dream that there was a version of the Bible– King James text, natch– where every ritual object of value, every prize, every temptation, was replaced by bacon.

Eve eats the bacon of Good and Evil.

God tells Abraham to sacrifice his bacon.

Moses hears the voice of god in a pile of burning bacon, and later comes down from the mountain to destroy the golden bacon idol that his people were worshipping.

Jesus goes to the wedding in Caana and turns all of the water into bacon.

Satan appears to Jesus in the desert and offers him all of the bacon in the world.

and so forth.

I give this brain worm to you for free.

We have taken a momentary break from the Papa-tales at bedtime– which is a relief, honestly, because we were deep into reruns and I was desperate for a little more variety and a shorter bedtime routine as the moving/house-hunting/etc. ramps up– and out of almost nowhere, both little ones are interested in _Where the Sidewalk Ends_. We tried before, but something didn't click. Now they can't get enough.

Now, thanks to this book, Calvin tells me, "I think that boogers are actually snail teeth. You know, from the sharp toothed snail that lives in everyone's nose! His teeth break and then when you blow your nose they fall out!"

and then two nights ago, the two of them stayed up probably 90 minutes past their bedtime, cackling in the dark at each other while they used various funny voices to recite this gem:

My beard grows to my toes,
I never wears no clothes.
I wraps my hair
Around my bare,
And down the road I goes.

Wife: asleep
Dog: chewing on a deer antler
Children: watching _Duck Amuck_
Self: Coffee and a new nethack character.

That's as close as it gets to church around here.

Those of you who aren't too old or too busy parenting to go out on a school night, THIS:

http://www.dnalounge.com/calendar/2010/02.html#04

…looks like exactly the kind of S.F. music throwdown you would expect to kick all known ass. Two words: Kid Beyond. Three more plus a hyphen: Smash-Up Derby (Mashups, but *played live*, not mixed/DJ'd). Plus a group I don't know, Gooferman, but they are the house band for the Bohemian Carnival and really, what else do you need to hear? GO.

Then tell me how it was, since I'm old.