Ever notice how downright CRAZY things get this time of year? Taxes, garden, lawn, graduations, spring sports, etc. Every creature and plant gets into high gear. Why, its no wonder things and responsibilities get misplaced. Reminds me of that poor youngun in those home alone movies. Folks got all caught up in catchin' the plane, and the next thing you know, ole Kevin's left behind. If you'll recall, in the 2nd installment of the series, his Mom and Dad are having a chat with the local constabulary in an effort to determine his whereabouts. Well, the fella portrayin' the part of said officer would be none other than Mr. Rodney Sell, a proud alumni of Ne-o-sho, MO. That's correct, a product of "the 4". His talents are also displayed in yer favorite ground hog movie, where every day repeats itself. Mr. Sell is one of the upstanding citizens of Puxatawney that presides over the festivities, wearing one of those dandy looking top hats and a nice long coat. They look like they was pulled right out of an old timey tintype photograph. Of course there is a century and a half's difference between tintypes and digital, but the concept is not all that different. I did a turn behind the ground glass of a tintype camera whilst employed at one of the Ozarks better known theme parks back in the 70s. That in turn led to contact with a number of banjer pickers and the like and the next thing ya know, I had strayed plumb away from my rock 'n roll roots. Oh, what wicked webs we weave. Here of late, I have been led back into musical endeavors. I say led, because the series of events that brought this about could have only been orchestrated by one with much broader vision than I. So, in addition to taxes, garden, lawn, graduations, spring sports, etc, I have had the opportunity to attend "practice" a couple of times each week, and actually perform on occasion. Keeps a fella busy. I hope you folks are all just in the midst of the spring awakening, and will find time to wander home fer a bit and keep everyone updated on particulars.

Be happy and careful

The beginning of the end? Maybe so. It's obvious that blog participation by RGNC'ers has fallen off abruptly as of late. So, given the lack of interest and participation, maybe its time to pull the plug on this thing. If nobody has the time to contribute and keep it moving, there is no obligation to pretend to act as though it matters. I for one, like the idea of a blog as a way to transcend geograghical distance and to also provide an outlet for whatever takes we might have about whatever we might have a take about. However, the silence as of of late has been heard loud and clear, and it says that maybe this ain't as much fun for some as it is for others. So, if that is the case, lets let it drop and move on. If there hasn't been much of a change in the next week, I'm going to have to put this blog down. After all, I can talk to myself easier than getting on this site to do it to nobody.

That having been said, I had a Guinness Malt yesterday. I said I had a Guinness Malt yesterday; made from Guiness Stout flavored ice cream. From what I understand the alcohol cooks off during the process of making the ice cream, but it still tastes like the much beloved soothment and beverage produced by the fine folks at St. James Gate in Dublin. Anyway, it was enjoyable.

Any photographers out there into the digitial stuff? I ordered a camera yesterday and will soon be clicking away. I was big into the photography classes in high school (yes, I went to high school). Now I look forward to doing so again. Travel stuff, slice of life, semi-documentary, that kind of thing. If the blog picks up again and survives I'll even be posting images if blogger ever gets their act together and allow the upgrade that makes it possible again.

Somebody who read the take I had re: candy bars recently informed me that in England, the standard vending machine fare is on the level of Cadbury's Chocolate. Thats some good stuff. Personally, I'll take it over a Hershey Bar any day. I'm not being a snob, it's just better.


be good.