The Dame gets bitch-slapped

An open letter to Cole Skinner, former Manager of The Dame:

Cole:

I was so goddamned bummed to read the Herald-Leader news of the management and staff changes at The Dame, the downtown club that you and your staff have worked so hard to build into a premier venue for local and national music acts. Beyond that, The Dame quickly became a favored place to meet up with friends, to laugh, to socialize, and to generally lighten the daily load. What a terrible blow for downtown Lexington night life to lose your management of that venue as well as the capable and friendly hands within.

However, I am so very grateful for the magic that you brought to Lexington with that club. You really filled a gap, Cole—one that had been festering and hurting in downtown since the closing of the legendary Wrocklage, so many years ago. Some of the success was location, but much of it was your manner and charm—and booking—that made The Dame feel like home. All of which I suppose will no longer be present in "Dame 2.0" or whatever the fuck those bonehead Atlanta owners call it.

I want to loudly and plainly say "thank you, Cole." I wish you the very best of luck in your next venture, and can only hope (somewhat vainly) that it is in Lexington.

Best wishes,

Mick

Please kneel slightly to receive things

Please kneel slightly to receive things
Originally uploaded by doctor paradox.

Not all pictogram signs are entirely clear, are they?

Rae Kicks Mountain Bike Ass! Film at 11.

One of my pals just completed the most amazing endeavor. I'm so awed by it!

Rae Gandalf—who some of you may know from "back in the day"—has moved on to a fascinating career as a Veterinarian, and sometimes posts emails with stories of pulling a gorilla's tooth, or x-raying an Elephant or what-have-you. But this latest thing—wowza! Rae was recuited to participate in the Santa Cruz Bikes Hellride 2, a competition that pits "amateur" (I use that time very loosely) mountain bikers with world-class pros for the chance to win the bike they ride—if they can only keep up on…the HELLRIDE!

Well, Rae kept up. No surprise to those of us who know her. But what a feat! And of course, an entertaining account, because she's also a wonderful writer. So click here to read Rae's account of her adventure!

If you want to congratulate her, email her!

Jill's pix of the Jennifer & Travis wedding weekend!

I'm going to keep posting people's albums as the come in so check back to see who else has posted pix. also: if you're planning on posting pix, please email me a link!

Here are Jill's Pix.

New Shambhu in the Lou!

He's my friend, an esteemed colleague, and last—and certainly not least—he's a distinctive and gifted artist.

So isn't it about time for some new work by Jim Shambhu? You bet it is!

Which is why I'm happy to pass on that Jim has a new show hanging at the ArtBeat Gallery in Louisville!

Pix from Mary's Thursday night

c'mon let's twist!
Originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

here's a few (very few) pix from Mary's and the Travis & Jennifer BBQ Bonanza! Plenty of cameras around so I actually focused on having fun. Thus the shortage of shots. Scroll down for a link to other wedding day shots by Anessa!

Lucy loves Mick

Lucy loves Mick
Originally uploaded by Anessa.

Anessa took a buncha pix at Jennifer & Travis' wedding, y'all. click here to see more!

Ashes-to-Fireworks Send-Off for Hunter S.

Six months, to the day, after his death, the Gonzo king, Hunter S. Thompson gets his ashes shot up into the sky with fireworks. Here's the coverage from the NY Times.

Even better, gonzo lovers, is this Flickr photo gallery of the funeral itself, which was underwritten by fellow Kentuckian Johnny Depp.

"An Einstein of Music" Bob Moog - R.I.P.

No matter what kind of music you like, Bob Moog touched it. The inventer of the Moog synthesizer was an unintentional architect of electronic music and all its myriad variations. He was a giant. If you want to know more, check out the the movie about him. Or listen to this NPR Fresh Air interview and here's an NPR feature marking his passing. Go put on your favorite: Switched on Bach, Parlament-Funkadelic, Kraftwerk, Electric Skychurch… It's hard to even consider overviewing. Moog's contribution can be heard on literally thousands records. But just for starters there was: 808 State, Abba, Bronski Beat, The Boards of Canada, Devo, Chick Corea, REO Speedwagon, Depeche Mode, Jean Michel Jarre, Kraftwerk, Emerson, Lake & Palmer, Herbie Hancock, Michael Jackson, Chic, Rush, Yes, Gary Numan, The Orb, Pere Ubu, The Prodigy, Pulp, Sun Ra, Nine Inch Nails, Bis, The Shamen, Stereolab, Tangerine Dream, Vangelis, Missing Persons, Kool and the Gang, Steve Winwood, Bernie Worrell, Pink Floyd. Add yr. own faves and Bob Moog, R.I.P.

This moment…

The sky was full of those rolling clouds, the kind that are a wonder to look at, as they tumble by, but also suggest that you may soon be running for cover. That breeze—it didn't really do much except blow the heat from here to there, which was nonetheless helpful.

In the fire-engine red vintage Bonneville convertible, the bride sat next to me, crouched down so nobody would see her…just yet. "Wow, I'm getting married in a minute," she noted, combining clinical observation with wry enthusiasm, as is her custom. I sat behind the wheel and nodded and breathed in the air. "Yep." I smiled at her, as is my custom.

Then the bride got out of the car, and got married.

---

"Here we are now, soon it will be then,
It's nothing more, nothing less than the place that we are in
This moment will never come again
I know it because it has never been before
And I listen to the wind, And I see the trees are shaking..."

"This Moment" Victoria Williams

Dog Day Kitty

Dog Day Kitty
Originally uploaded by mrtoastey.

My cat is the Master of Window Slumber.

Hobo Convention in progress!

Ever since I found out that there was an annual Hobo Convention in Britt, Iowa, I've been curious. Apparently, Britt is some kind of Hobo Capital of the World.

Maybe next year I'll go. If you're curious about what, exactly, a hobo is, then look no further. (note: you may have to scroll down a bit)

Elizabethtown

For those of you wondering how Kentucky will next be portrayed by Hollywood, here's the trailer for "Elizabethtown," Cameron Crowe's new flick starring Orlando Bloom and Kirsten Dunst. Release date: October 14

There's also a montage bit (to Elton John) with some Kentucky sights for you to identify, including a sign for Ear X-tacy in Louisville. PS: the movie was also shot in Versailles, among other places.

Looks like a typical kind of Cameron Crowe thing—comin' of age, findin' love 'n' growin' up. Not that there's anything wrong with that—See Fast Times at Ridgemont High, Say Anything, or Almost Famous much? I would also throw in roughly half of Jerry Maguire.

Actually—it usually seems that CC is great for about half of any given movie (excluding Almost Famous). Take your pick.

Dude. Check it out.

I think this is overdu(d)e.

A scholarly investigation of the American use of the word "dude." Linguist Deciphers Uses of Word 'Dude'

My Dream…

I tell you—we are in the Fido Days of Summer. And in the late afternoon, I frequently require a nap in The Chamber. See, in my house, two rooms are AC—my office and my bedroom. So when I take a nap, I go to The Chamber.

Today I woke up after a surprisingly long (hour and a half) and deep sleep, and I remembered this dream:

I was at some sort of outdoor banquent, on a pretty day. I was clustered with others, around the fringes of a long dining table, with silverware and china, and we hadn't sat down yet. We were waiting for Ronald Reagan to arrive. When a golf cart pulled up—or maybe it was an army jeep—Ronald Reagan got out and he was youthful and lucid, kind of like a 1980 Reagan. He waved one of those "I'm running for president" high-up waves, and I made a break for him, with my camera in hand. All around, people—including me—were exclaiming in surprise: "Oh, he looks great!" Everybody was surprised that Reagan wasn't completely senile from Alzheimers. As I approached him, he was looking right at me and held out his decent little point-and-shoot camera, wanting me to hold it while he examined my new camera. He didn't even ask to see it, but I could tell he was delighted with it, so I handed it right to him. He admired it and then handed it back to me and got back into the jeep, and was driven off. Then I realized I still had his camera. I reported this to some nearby military types and a jeep was sent over to pick me up so I could return Reagan's camera. The MP driver was kind of bitter. He drove us out of this valley up this impossibly steep hill. I was kind of concerned, because it was a manual transmission and this hill was really steep. He was cursing under his breath, saying things like "this is what I gotta deal with…" Meaning: assorted errands and grunt work.

I woke up before I could find Reagan and give him his camera back.

Cafe Del Mar

A quick shout-out ot Cafe Del Mar, my wi-fi and double-espresso source!

Headed back inland

Probably no surprise, but since arriving at the Beach, I just haven't had time from blogging. Plenty of time to sit around lolling in a beach chair, though. Luckily for my leisure, the laptop fears the sand, so she no go to da beach! It's been delightful here in Wrightsville Beach. We're getting ready to head inland, Lucy and I, to take the long way home. I'm becoming a big fan of this, and have nearly comcluded that every bit of driving stress can be attributed to some aspect of Interstate driving—the trucks, traffic stop-ups, road work, dickheads, you name it. Most of these things, not found on the back roads!

A quick shout out to pal Jessie, who loves Wrightsville Beach! It's hot here, Jessie Lou! A hunnerd, nearly!

So we're gonna split for cooler climes. (no, it's not just that. it's a recurring thing called "work," too, calling us back to Lex) Hopefully some more adventures in the Pisgah Mountains, the Blue Ridge, "Mountain Mama," etc.

Oh, funny thing—I was searching for some jernt for us to get some fine fine North Carolina barbecue as we venture along, and got one of those automated banner ads that said the most ridiculous thing: "North Carolina Barbecue: Huge selection of new & used. Check out the deals now! www.ebay.com"

Chester and PICTURES

A town called Chester.

Something has always appealed to me abut this name. And Chester was a great uncle of mine. (and I'd be remiss, if I didn't mention that Hustler magazine had a regular comic called "Chester the Molester," and I know this because my middle school best friend Tim and I used to sneak into his basement to read his dad's rather extensive collection.)

Anyway—Chester, SC. I drove through last night and was surprised by the fanciness of it. Lots of of big old antebellum houses, dense treed lawns, a town square, etc. Even at 9 pm, you can see that these people are pretty darned proud of their town. Chester is also the home of a major branch of the SC DOT clean-up facilities. Which explains why the place smells a great deal like fresh paint.

Today, I'm headed to the beach. Huntington Beach, hopefully, which looked dreamy last year, when they turned me away (they were full) despite intense begging and nicing. This year, I'm trying to call ahead, but I keep getting a busy signal. Hoping for the best.

(editors' note: I didn't get there. I called and they were booked! Next year, I'm really calling ahead. I've changed the plan, and after a fabulous drive through rural SC, I'm heading to Wilmington, to meet up with Sweet Lucy, and the Points clan.)

Anyway, I've put some pictures up.

Traveling the scenic by-ways with Mick

Let's talk about Monday—Monday was about Asheville and the fabulous State Road 74-A with some Blue Ridge Parkway thrown in for good measure.

Woke up at the decent, but forgettable—what's it called?—ha ha—Lake Powhatan and packed it up quickly to search for a coffee shop in Asheville. When I told a record store clerk—never ask a record store clerk anything by the way—to point me to an area with "freaky, hippy, bohemian restaurants," he said, "pretty much that's all of Asheville." I would have to disagree, but the concentration is surprising. After a couple of hours at a communist bookstore (always a treat), I hit the road and made the first of two driving errors. Neither one were major, but I was a little pissed that I somehow got off course each time by about 15 miles. I love following maps and, folks, some placees the roads are marked more clearly than other places.

Wait—I'm writing to you from inside my tent at Chester State Park. It's too fucking hot to write in this tent at 10:30pm. I'll continue in the morning, if I haven't turned into a puddle.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

Okay, last night was a hot one. At least to be in a tent. What I want, I've decided is one of those pop-up trailers. Some guy told me to go to folddowntrailers.com. Shoulda known that would exist.. (ps: it doesn't. I looked)

anyway, I'm at Waffle House a few miles up the road from Chester. And I'm a fugitive from the law. Yep. Skipped out on my camping bill. Hey, hold your judgment, a minute! It was funny—twice yesterday, the rangers waved me off when I tried to pay. At first I thought they were just being inexplicably samaritanly, but the second time I realized it was more of a laziness ("we'll getcha later, son...") So, this morning, I was packed up and showered and they hadn't "got me." On the way out the gate, I found myself driving past a ranger, and so I rolled down the window and did my best SC y'all drawl: "don't y'want want me to pay ya?!" He smled back and said: "We didn't get ya last night?" Nope, I said. And he mulled this over and said "It's $14.59." Aw, man… I thought—because, for some reason, I thought that it was $7. And I knew I only had $8. I fumbled around for my checkbook, half knowing that I didn't have it. I have to confess: I was secretly hoping that he would say "don't worry about it; we'll see ya next time." But no! Finally, I was mumbling about a cash machine, and allowin' as how I reckoned I could go down the road 5 miles to the BP, which I meant to do, I really did! Which as you read this, I didn't do. My rationalization: I can mail it later. I really hope I do that.

This fugitive stuff is exhausting.

Some South Carolina for y'all

this time it's outside of chester, SC. I landed here as if by design, after a botched attempt at going elsewhere.

Anybody thing the worlds too crowded for creepy desolation? I give you Woody Haven Recreation Area, sitting all by itself at the edge of the Sumter National Forest. This was my desstination, according to my trusty "Camping in the Carolinas" book, which has never failed me.. until now.

An unbelievable number of tunrs after I crossed the Carolina border, I finally arrived at the campground at about 7:15, or right on time, as we like to say.

The thing was—there was one shirtless guy there, with his pickup truck and a tent. Now, granted, I'm merely one shirted guy with his station wagon and a tent, but I had my doubts. I was prepared to stay, but there was something offputting about the place. Some desperation there. Maybe it was the decimation caused by the fir beetle plague that had struck here (many downed fir trees) or the fact that a forest fire was evident in the recent past, or the lack of another living soul… or maybe it was just the one shirtless guy.

Anyway, I split. I couldn't level the tent, so I split. The thing was, I had repeatedly considered going to Chester, because there was a state park there, and—you know— the dot on the map looked promising, and—hey—it's a place called Chester. So I hopped back into the very nicely-behaving Ms. Volvo (btw, she threatened to overheat at the desolation campground—bad sign) and we headed down the road about another half hour and had no problem finding Chester State Park, where the super waved me off when I asked to pay, and told me I could just pop the pin out of the park gate if I got back after they closed it. Did I mention that the place is a paradise of spruce trees, on a lake, with just enough campers to remove the creepy but not too many.. One thing: it is damned hot here. Shit, it's hot. I'm thinking about sleeping in the lake.