youngraven: (Off Centre)
...before I shove off for the evening.

Morning aggro
When I opened my office door this morning, I discovered that somebody had wedged a cart stacked with office detritus behind my chair. I'd been given a message to the effect of 'the area formerly known as Graphics has been cleared out - all of this is yours. Fetch out of the warehouse, please'. Only it never made it there, did it? 'Cos somebody stuffed it into my room.

The punchline? None of it actually belonged to me.

Books
I've read three books recently. One, a blast from the past; one, a waste of my time (largely); and one, about a walk in the woods. The first in the list was The Wonderful Flight to the Mushroom Planet by Eleanor Cameron.  When I was younger (I don't recall my actual age - 8? 9?), I was mad for Mushroom Planet books. They are all mostly out of print now and considered collectible. I don't think libraries have them anymore - not when they can fetch hundreds on Amazon.com.

The second in the list was Help Me, I'm Irish by Ray Hamill. The excerpt I'd read was amusing - seriously. I thought I'd stumbled over a gem. And then it arrived, and...well, I realise I'm never to judge a book by its cover, but the instant the thing was out of the box and into my hands I thought 'oh...this is a vanity pressing'. Now then, I've read a vanity pressing book before...and it wasn't terribly well-written as far as its language crafting was concerned. But the story that the woman told (she was a homesteader in Alaska in the 60s) was so unique and fascinating that I ignored the shortcomings. This thing by Ray Hamill? My. Somebody should have stopped you, mate. Seriously. He could have made it a genuine autobiography (rather than inventing a character and hiding behind him), and it would have had more merit. But. He didn't do that, and...he didn't exactly have a story to tell most of the time. And he includes this preface which is lengthy and too explanatory and...he insists upon using 'damn' when it should be 'damned' - and that gets up my nose. Oh, and he writes in eye dialect for his Irish characters. It's a spike to the head. Alright, they're from Dublin, we get it. Sure, jeez.

I'm going to foist the book off on somebody else tonight. Somebody who I suspect will appreciate it far more than myself. :|

The third in the list was A Walk in the Woods (see, told you) by Bill Bryson. In it, he tells the story of the time that he and his mate hiked the Appalachian Trail just for the craic. At the very end of the book, the publisher had a list of his other works, which I plan to read. Highly entertaining, and I learnt that a bear will eat you if you take a Snickers bar into the woods. So don't do that. I recommend it for those of you in need of a bit of non-fiction.

It's even a longer way to Tipperary, now
It's true. The Tipp is shutting. Tim, the chap who took it over from Martin all those years ago, sent round a message to the effect of 'we've had a good run, but'. I'm dismayed. Seriously. The Tipp afforded the local Irish scene a fantastic place to play. People were encouraged to come out for the ceol as well as the craic. Sure, I have spent more time of late at Trinity Hall, but that's largely 'cos I had sort of a regular gig there.

The original Tipperary was my first seisiun and where I met [livejournal.com profile] shaddowshoes . I've seen it through all of its iterations and owners, and we've lost something needful here. It was a noteworthy thing to have played the Tipp. I'm really pleased to say that I have done, and I'm terribly sorry to see it go.

Project Peaches
I've made a few contacts in Atlanta. [livejournal.com profile] shaddowshoes and I are going out to look round in a fortnight. We'll spend our tenth anniversary there, which is a bit bittersweet. I've, sight unseen, decided to look for a flat in Vinings. It's near to the river (one block of flats has got a fishing pier and a place to put in a canoe or kayak - I worry that it's entirely too costly to live there, but I am so intrigued), it seems a cosy place, I like the sound of the name 'Vinings', and it's not so far from the city proper that I'll spend the rest of my days stuck in traffic. I've heard that the traffic in Atlanta is horrid, but it's fairly rotten here as well, so... Who knows, right?

I've made myself a Google map with colour-coded 'pins' in to show where I plan to look. I've also got a list of flats, &c saved to a web site, so I've been doing rather a bit of work on that score. I've yet to begin packing, 'cos... sigh. I don't think that needs explanation, really.

And with that, I'm heading off to seisiun.

Slán go foill...
youngraven: (sprig)
So, [livejournal.com profile] typsygypsy is for ever making the grandest little signs for us. Am I doing anything creative at all? No. rather I'm doing this:

Sprig's playing...
3 August 2007 (Friday - holy shite, that's tonight!)
8.30pm - 12.30 am
Trinity Hall
5321 E Mockingbird Ln
Dallas, TX 75206
214.887.3600

And the aformentioned [livejournal.com profile] typsygypsy and myself will be playing tomorrow night at the Tipperary. Speaking of which, here's what the good people at the Tipp have got to say about that:

Join us as Michelle Feldman & David Lovrien (Gallus), Gypsy Youngraven & Candace Winship (Spriggan) and John Burleson (formerly of Lost Tribe) get together for an evening of celtic music.

The Irish TIMES Band is the brainchild of Jigsaw member Ken Fleming, and its sole purpose is to combine some of the area's best talent to raise money for the Traditional Irish Music Education Society (TIMES), a non-profit organization founded by Fleming that produces the O'Flaherty Irish Music Retreat in October and other educational programs year-round.


You can still find the Tipperary Inn in its usual corner: 5815 Live Oak St, Dallas 75214

Peace out, slán go foill, and mind the gap (and I'll keep saying it, bedamn. ;))
Erm...
Gypsy

Sprig sez

Jun. 12th, 2007 04:25 pm
youngraven: (Default)

Boo-yah

Feb. 5th, 2007 11:27 pm
youngraven: (Default)
Saturday night was Sprig's first show of the new year, and we blew the roof off the place. No lie. We had a fantastic, attentive crowd, and we closed to a full house. Many amongst them were people we knew, but many more weren't - and that's always grand. It isn't as though I dislike playing to my mates - never believe that, but there's a certain sort of gleeful conquest in winning over new people.

Sort of thing. I'm not feeling terribly descriptive at the moment, so this mightn't be as glib and pithy as other posts. Never mind that.

Confucius sez it's time for a cut )

And there it is.
youngraven: (spriggan)
I still hold that I didn't wake with a hangover yesterday, despite the long, sloppy conversation I'd had with the tequila the night before. In all honesty, I don't know why I was flopping about like a dying fish - it could have been the weather, it could have been the tequila (sure, why not), it could have been a host of things. At the end of the day (and fuckinell, it was a long day), I survived it all like a champion.

The show at the Tipp went well. We had a respectable crowd - they were a bit hard to reach at first, but they got used to us as the night...got darker. Perhaps that was it - they were confused by the longer seeming day.

Sure. Why not? (That's twice I've used that phrase - who wants to lay bets it's not the last time?)

At any rate, a rousing Cheers to all and sundry who showed for us. It's always grand to play for people who understand that some of us don't stop being Irish on the 18th of March. Sort of thing.

I delivered a stellar performance, considering that I was dead on my feet. We all did. We were brilliant, and shiny, and many other happy adjectives. (I've had another long day, can you tell?)

So, enough with the ego stroking. If my head inflates anymore, it'll burst and hurl grey matter hither and yon, and the last I checked I was using it. So we shouldn't want that to happen.

Christ on a bike, I'm tired. That's a dangerous phrase to let slip from your mouth when surrounded by easily a hundred still practising Catholics. But no matter.

So. So we've got thro' Set the Second when the people at the table nearest the door beckon me over. 'Do you know "The Irish Rover"' one of the women asks me. 'Well...I know parts of it, but not enough to render it well and we're working on it', and various other excuses as to why we'll not be playing it that night. So she asks 'so, what else do you know that is happy and rollicking?' and the fellow leaning against the wall oppposite chimes in 'That doesn't involve killing us - just so we're clear'.

Ah...

So, I did what every fiery-bloody Irish girlin would do in that awkward situation. I froze dead in my tracks and gaped at them like fish dropped into a bottle of vodka. And...true to my own confused natured, I stammered something unintelligble and became Very Sporting.

'Cos nobody's ever asked me that before - they all simply play along with the 'tiocfhaidh ar la' (yeh, somebody actually said that) and the 'damn the English'. We've never heard 'ah, hang about - we aren't all bastards, please don't kill us'. Argh.

So we made a frantic, last-minute change to our set list (hurrah for Very Sporting. Jaysus.), and perhaps we appeased them. At least they didn't break for the door as if we'd set their heads on fire. I thought to myself 'which part of "Cead Mile Failte"' gave you the idea that this was an English pub? Martin Lombard's absence? He's not dead, he's simply...no longer at the Tipperary (not that Martin would ever suffer a rebel song, but no matter). Oish.

Anybody know the Irish for 'kowtow'?

I had a point, but as I might have mentioned, it's been a long week end. Today, [livejournal.com profile] shaddowshoes ran sound for the Behan Family Revue, and since I've got two hands, I put them to good use. Sure, why not?

So, there it is. Don't choke on it.

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