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Lets Get COVID in New Hampshire!

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We thought we had narrowly escaped COVID with our collective departure from Italy.  But it was not to be.

Everything was looking good, from the could-have-been-worse schlep through the Zurich train station with the enormous guitar case (no carts?!  no humans who help?!), through wine tasting in SwissAir First Class, to smooth arrival in Boston.

My trusty ally and friend Spoolia was there to scoop me.

And driving into Newton it was as if we hadn’t even left Italy!  Heck, dinner even was Italian, but pronounced incorrectly.

Mabel was impressed, and this is a dog not really impressed by much!

So it was off to New Hampshire for some music.  And a side of accidental COVID.

Oopstock has been going strong for 29 years.  Many of the usual folks were in attendance. But get this: there was a professional sound guy, and there were high school kids manning the grill.  Holy cow, so upscale!!

This made my life much easier (not to mention Rhine’s).  Here are my feet on the table where the sound board USED to be positioned way back when I was the sound guy.  The hombre to the right is Steve.  He ran great sound.

The usual instrument pod.

The East German Gold Medal Swim Team Captain.

New blood with high charisma.

Where’s Aubrey did an iteration of the Into the Unknown game.  We all missed Sogol’s dancing.  But here is the picture that April made.

 

The Moose Hut guys also got whacked by COVID.  Chris was down and didn’t make the party.  As a result, a game of musical chairs around who plays what instrument resulted.  Zack played drums?!

Everybody missed Romey.

There was, in deference to Italy, a Negroni session mid-day.

The sun set.  The babies went to bed.

And the bands came out under the actual light show.  FWIW, LED lights still attract shit tons of mosquitos.

Guy Ferrari played some original music.  Tight.

Moose Hut became Moose Nut or maybe Moose Butt.

And then it was the Grayhounds (a quasi-iteration on Splatterfoot with a new guy named Paul whaling on guitar).

Sadly, Rhine was infected the whole time.  He started feeling symptoms Sunday.  And I got it from him.  I am pretty sure this all started with the Italian villa art collective (and I secretly wonder about their self-reported negative test results before our performance).  So many years of top notch risk management come tumbling down when you change your risk stance.  WHOMP.

A view from the stage.  We played electric until 10 then shifted to the campfire where this year’s highlights were a complete treatment of one side of the Pink Floyd Animals record, and a coveted iteration of Hangin.

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Then it was off to Spain to become a vector.  Unknowingly. Alas.

Special thanks to Spool for making this all possible and to Rhine and April for persisting with the music party even in a summer crammed with art and fun.

 

 

Only an Expert: Laurie Anderson, The Weather

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Very Small Laurie Anderson

Oh boy, oh boy did we want to go to this one the second we heard about it.  Laurie Anderson has overtaken the second floor at the Hirshhorn with an installation that is a bit of a retrospective and a living piece of art at the same time at the same time art at the same time living piece of art at the same time.

Just go.  I mean, you’ve been already right?

The Hirshhorn is under construction.  Just like the exhibit.

So lets go see…  But before we start, I just have to mention in passing that my artistic son was psyched to see the exhibit spontaneously well before I did (beat dad by two weeks in fact), but failed to connect the art he was experiencing to Laurie Anderson’s music (especially Big Science which he has heard a zillion times).  I think hooking in some of the great music would be a treat.

I guess this counts. Kinda. Only an expert drum machine.

Flags in unison, except for one flag that was on strike or experiencing technical difficulties, or maybe it is just an iconoclast.

 

The striking flag. You can tell it is a communist since it is red.

 

This picture makes the song play in my head.

Anyway, here.  This song was only alluded to through text in the exhibit.  Have a listen.

This picture will play the song in your head, through your earholes.

Then there was the crow room (actually probably a raven, but I am calling it a crow anyway).  For me, this is all about Emily Shepardson.  I think Laurie owes Emily some royalties.  Or maybe just a make up concert in the living room.

This room is striking, fun, quirky, disturbing, and classic overload all at the same time same time all at the same time classic overload all at the same time.

The raven crow

 

The crow raven

 

The craven row

 

Romey and the crow

 

Did I mention that my dear friend Spool was along?

 

The golden canoe looks as seaworthy as some of its NH counterparts

 

A picture for emily of a picture of the picture, but not this picture, the one IN this picture.

 

 

Color!

Kind of a shock after all of that black and white. Big paintings.

 

Color too!

 

The tape loop violins

 

Then it was back to Fall in the beautiful gardens next door.

My art compatriots

 

I mean who gets to see art like this with two beautiful women? Oh, its me.

 

Fin.

 

How to top Proton Tuesday?! Radioactive Valentine’s Day!

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As usual, it started with zapping

But it was a special day!  The last day of treatment!  Which means bell ringing time.  Pizza was devoured. Bells were rung.

 

Feels good to be done.

 

A happy spool

There was little time left for Baltimore’s museum collection.  We headed directly to the American Visionary Art Museum.

AVAM

 

Das boots (slightly radioactive)

 

After purchasing some items, many of which were plastic, we headed to the aquarium, driving like lost tourists.

The parking angel (really does something indescribably to the Audi)

The National Aquarium was mobbed on a Valentines Day night.

 

 

 

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And then it was back down to Old Town for a very late dinner indeed at the Majestic.  Super fun at the bar (happy Catoctin Creek day!), and a delicious dinner.

A VERY VERY LARGE BOTTLE OF CHAMPAGNE. VERY LARGE.

The bar at the Majestic

Scallops. If you can’t watch them in an aquarium, by all means eat them.

 

Last word

 

I will dearly miss Proton Tuesdays (and Radioactive Valentines), but I hope they never happen again.