Noise

Walked down to the music festival yesterday evening, noted that the "bluegrass" group sounded more "citybilly" to me (no fiddle -- how 'n hell can you do bluegrass without a fiddle?), absorbed a beer at the booze tent after asking the bouncer if he needed I.D. (he took a look at the gray in my beard and said "I'm good...").

The Cape Breton group complained of the cold. Now that's a vicious smear, I tell you. Consider the natural atmosphere of Nova Scotia in general and Cape Breton in particular. They should have felt right at home. They _could_ have done with a decibel or two less amplification.

Will probably wander downtown again this afternoon -- taiko drumming, an Irish group, Nipmuc flute and stories...

Parental finger-drumming

According to the British Airways website, Younger Son's plane arrived okay last night, maybe 20 minutes late. No word on further excursions through mass-transit in Major New England City and on to Amtrak and finally early morning apartment at the Heartless University.

His grandparents called yesterday, checking on progress -- I guess they are more wound up about the trip than we are. At that point, our best guess was that he and companions were chilling out at Heathrow.

Didn't help the grandparental composure to hear that another British flight had been diverted to our local airport for "security concerns..."

It's a dog, folks

Item in the morning paper -- DNA testing shows that the Maine Monster is/was a dog. Sorry.

He Aten't Dead

Younger Son has reported in, got back in fine order, if jetlagged. Presentation went well. There were cats. Even cats in the Hermitage, what more could a Younger Son want?

And the insidious Russians didn't manage to poison him. They tried -- he's allergic to walnuts and that ilk, and his traveling cohort made the mistake of going to a Georgian restaurant. Apparently Georgians (former Soviet sort, not Jimmy Carter-land) put walnuts into everything.