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The week­end was quite full. Friday, as pre­vi­ously reported was an evening at the Blues Festival. Saturday involved some clean­ing, some slack­ing, and some cook­ing with Kim. We were going to go hook up with Eric to see fire­works, but got mixed up with times. (Both Eric and I could have sworn there were fire­works on Saturday, too, but a last-minute con­sul­ta­tion of the pro­gram showed this was incor­rect.) No wor­ries, there. We had a great time eat­ing, snack­ing, watch­ing Dracula (which I do not think I had watched in years), and hang­ing out. It was kind of cool and inter­est­ing to lis­ten to her point out all the cos­tum­ing flaws.

Yesterday was more Blues Festival. The gospel stuff they started with was all right, but not quite my cup of tea. Later in the after­noon, there were bands and styles that I liked a bit bet­ter. The last band I watched that day was a Mississippi blues group, hav­ing one mem­ber with a ban­doleer of about ten har­mon­i­cas. Their music was great, there stage pres­ence was great, the whole expe­ri­ence was fun, except for the whole standing-in-the-hot-sun thing. They also did this thing where the leader of the band would start with a story, which led to a song that went on for a cou­ple of min­utes, then the band sud­denly stops and goes quiet as he con­tin­ues more of the story, which leads into more of the song, etc. It sort of reminded me of George Thorogood's “One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer.”

Later in the day, I hooked up with Kim and we went to her friend David's house. After an ini­tial char­coal snafu (we were too busy talk­ing and prepar­ing to notice the wood char­coal had com­pletely burned away), we “grilled” (in the oven) por­to­bello mush­rooms (basted in a really tasty sauce) and buf­falo burg­ers. Both Kim and David seem to be semi-pro chefs, so part of the evening seemed to be like liv­ing in an episode of The Splendid Table. That part was a bit over­whelm­ing. I had always though myself to be okay-to-good when it came to cook­ing, but lis­ten­ing to them think up mix­tures on the fly and talk about what makes a good baklava showed me that I have a bit more to learn.

Later still, we all went on over to Eric's, then to the water­front (the east side, oppo­site the fes­ti­val) to watch fire­works. Yeay for fire­works! The hippy in me got to reflect on how we stole them from the Chinese and used the enter­tain­ing (reli­gious?) tech­nol­ogy to make guns and bombs (and space travel). Kim ran into some friends drum­ming for peo­ple fire danc­ing (there was even a lit­tle kid in the fire danc­ing group!) A girl from “the other vet” (the one I went to for board­ing the cats over Christmas while away because the vet I take them to was full) some­how rec­og­nized me and remem­bered Pants and The Precious–even though I had not been there in 6 months. Fortunately, it was a brief enough “hi” that I did not have to bring up the ulti­mate retire­ment of Pants.

Still later in the evening, we returned to Eric's porch (I love porches!!) to talk, relax, and par­take in some wine. One of the neigh­bors was light­ing off some crazy-insane-loco fire­works: mor­tars with rock­ets, bricks of Roman-candle-like devices, M80's, etc. We were watch­ing and cheer­ing. One of the neigh­bors, attempt­ing to be a neigh­bor­hood do-“good“er, came out and had a stern talk­ing to the peo­ple light­ing off the (admit­tedly ille­gal and loud, yet fun, cool, and appro­pri­ate for the evening) fire­works, so they ended up leav­ing and we ended up boo'ing.

Return home, sleep, have an odd dream that is now dif­fi­cult to recall, awake in the morn­ing to dis­cover that a cat had grabbed some of the bell pep­per innards that had not quite got­ten flushed down the garbage dis­posal, pulled it onto the floor, eaten some of it, then pro­ceeded to hork all over the floor. Today, assum­ing I actu­ally get cleaned up and leave the house, is the last day of the Blues Festival.

Posted in: Dear Diary Music Portland

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