Show Stopper

Hello World, Happy happy, joy joy! That may not be true of absolutely everybody out there in the wide world, but as for myself, I'm leaving for vacation tomorrow, and I can't wait! Last year at this time, I wasn't working, so I was basically just taking a break from job hunting - but now that I've been doing actual temp work since November, it's a great feeling to look forward to a whole week off, full of sand and surf, sun by day and campfires by night, and don't spare the marshmallows, my good man! Usually, I would take the Friday off from work before I leave, so I can pack everything into the car, but I couldn't do that at my temp job and still get paid, so I ended up packing the car last Saturday, and just driving around with 2 tents, my suitcase, fire bucket, sleeping bag, extra tent poles, and 250 pounds of firewood all week, thanks not. On Wednesday when it was raining, I tried to stop short, and instead slid right through the intersection through sheer momentum itself. It's a good thing nobody got in my way, or we'd still be picking up tent stakes from every which where, I dare say. Of course, last Saturday was Independence Day, and you can be sure that The Flag Brigade was hard at work, flying the colors upstairs and downstairs, and doing a heck of a job at it, if I do say so myself. The weather was somewhat changeable all day, but we managed to hold off the rain for the most part, so Old Glory was not in danger of getting soaked, on top of everything else, and the environs were much improved with the patriotic hues of the star-spangled banners hanging from the ramparts, as it were. Now, alert readers may be wondering - and well might they wonder, indeed - if July 4th has come and gone, whatever became of the fabled Round Hill Highland Games of lore and legend, where we go every year, and in fact, often reschedule my vacation so as to avoid a conflict with them? Well, wonder no more, because I'm sure that the Scottish games went off without a hitch at Norwalk's scenic Cranbury Park, as they do every year, but we took a pass on them this time around. On the same day as the games we usually go to, there was also the Connecticut Irish Festival at North Haven Fairgrounds, and our friends invited us to join them there instead, as a change of pace, and we were glad to oblige. They describe themselves as a "Feis and Agricultural Fair," although they had no agricultural exhibits on Saturday, and I also couldn't find any mention of them in the program for Saturday or Sunday. Mostly it seemed to be an entertainment event, with lots of live music, Irish step dancing competitions, traditional Irish folk music, and plenty of beer. There was also some youth soccer taking place on a separate field, and an exhibition hall with vendors selling various Celtic products, as well as other assorted merchandise, Gaelic or not. It was all interesting to us, since we had never been to one before, and even better was that they gave everyone a souvenir T-shirt just for showing up. The weather was chilly and sprinkling, but it was still a fun day, and the best part was stopping for dinner at Denny's in West Haven on the way home. So we traded in our "Scots wha hae" for "Erin go bragh" this year, and our bagpipes for fiddles, but I can tell you that Denny's tasted just as delicious, regardless. Yum! And speaking of entertainment, it isn't often that you can see a certified legend up close and personal, so when the opportunity arose to catch the one and only Stephen Stills (late of Crosby, Stills & Nash, plus numerous other bands) and practically on our doorstep, we dropped everything and went. This was another show at The City Winery on Varick Street in New York City, an intimate venue famous for its live music and unique cuisine, and not to mention, they actually make their own wine right on the premises, believe it or not. We availed ourselves of their signature French fries and flatbread, and they did not disappoint. Also not disappointed, the small but enthusiastic crowd went wild for Stephen Stills at every turn, although I found the show took a while to get off the ground, starting off with a bunch of odd, arcane, or unknown songs that I would have thought would be impossible for someone with his long history of solid-gold hits. The opening acoustic set seemed a strange melange of unusual choices and offbeat anecdotes, and wrapped up surprisingly with a rousing version of "Suite: Judy Blue Eyes," with the audience providing the David Crosby part on melody, and Stills filling in on the harmony. Things definitely picked up after a long intermission, the musicians went electric, and we settled in for a string of well-known tunes, all the way back from the Buffalo Springfield era, and everything else right on up from there, with the whole toe-tapping, finger-snapping, sing-along vibe carrying everybody right along with it. Not so fast! Our friends decided that they had to make an early exit and head for home, so we had no choice but to skulk out along with them, and arguably missed the best part of the show that was still yet to come, alas. But it was still a night to remember, or at least half a night, and the moral of the story is that next time we join friends for a concert, first we're going to find out when their bedtime is. In other local news, our intrepid newspaper, The Journal News (their motto: "Nooz R Wee") recently ran a front-page story about a development of affordable housing being proposed for downtown Chappaqua, of all places. Columnist and tax expert David McKay Wilson, who knows better, explained that the approval of an emergency sidewalk was what he described as "a crucial lynchpin in the plan." Yikes! (That rustling sound you hear is hundreds of years of editors all spinning in their graves, and who can blame them?) Our friends at the Grammarist web site insist that "lynchpin" is a perfectly acceptable variant of "linchpin" in the United Kingdom, but its use in a heavily diverse urban metropolis demonstrates a gross insensitivity that is offensive in its obliviousness. Meanwhile, in other oblivious non-news, I couldn't help but notice the following when I was looking up the history of the Mars Company (and please feel free to go right ahead to www.mars.com and see for yourself) and stumbled upon this curious tidbit, apparently presented without a hint of irony: ======================== In 1902, Frank C. Mars marries Ethel G. Kissack, a schoolteacher, and in 1904, Forrest Edward Mars Sr. is born in Wadena, Minnesota. ========================= Gee, I sure hope not! In order to be Forrest Edward Mars Sr., this newborn would have to already have a son named Forrest Edward Mars Jr., and here I'm thinking, this would have come as a gigantic surprise to poor Ethel G. Kissack, if nobody else. (That moaning sound that you hear means that hundreds of years of editors have finally stopped spinning in their graves, and are now wailing and gnashing their teeth instead, and once again, no one could blame them a bit.) At this point, I'm thinking that we can all agree to take a page out of the Stephen Stills playbook, and quit while we're ahead. After all, half a baby daddy is still better than half a lynchpin, no matter how you slice it, and in that special Purgatory reserved for editors, the devil's in the details. Anyway, that's my story and I'm sticking with it, or my name isn't - Erin Go Bragh