Someone at my work is selling their two year old computer for $100! That would be Part II of my wish list. It"ll be perfect for recording my music...no, not mp3's for my IPod but .wav files of my own songs to be burned onto CD's. My CD's are mostly for my own enterainment and to share with friends, but who knows, maybe someday an artist of some importance will hear and like one of my songs. That's pretty much the way it happens.
So my good friend Dale calls me on at home on Saturday morning and invites me to a party at his farm in South Carolina (about 200 miles from Atlanta). So I go and besides the usual group of suspects, a whole different group of folks were there. We sat around a great bonfire, I played a little guitar (Dale's old Yari which he had sold to Jim McMahon for a paltry sum) until it got a little cold. We retired inside for Chili and fresh oysters, take you pick. Gin Gimlets, etc were flowing to point the language as we know it became unintelligible. Several members of the entourage were particularly succeptable to hallucinatory interpretation (see my posts on "The Conversation") which is easy to get lost in so I limited my indulgence in that kind of active listening. At a certain point the hosts put on a very strange movie from 1973 called "The Wicker Man." It was at this point that I decided to turn off my reality bending tricks and watch this cult classic straight. It was my view that the highly hyped dvd fell short of it's mark. Other members of the party were enthralled, one of whom fell into laughing fits through the entire first half of the movie. I'm sorry, I just didn't get it. Maybe is was some sort of Pagen version of "The Exorcist" but it didn't quite cut it. Maybe I'm too much of a realist and a Christian (curious combination, huh) to be moved but I thought the victim's prophesy that when the crops failed the following year, that the community would call for the life of their leader, to be on the money.
I slept the night away, Dale and I were up early flirting with the waitresses at the Huddle House and I was off to an enjoyable 2.5 hour drive back to Atlanta. Two big thumbs up on the weekend.