blue skies? nope. bluegrass!

i love performances,
but i hate events.
that's the thing, kids.
steve martin is a hilarious man.
and a master impresario for banjo appreciation.
he's also an incredible performer.
and a swell dresser.
merrill auditorium?
dope.
merrill auditorium attendees?
not really so much dopeness.
sorry,
but cultured city dwellers and afficionados of
all things refined and sophisticated,
diminished the overall experience somewhat
with the overwhelming non-expertise of their city auras.
it's like some kind of self-indulgent self-important
suckie suckhole sap is just oozing out.
cell phones!
cameraphone photos!
loud conversations!
later-than-fashionably-late intrusions!
hot, smelly, city breath!
the styles were so hard, neighbors.
luckily,
mr. martin,
and the steep canyon rangers,
and their guests,
tony trishka and territory,
brought the mutha-uckin' thunder.
so much so that it was possible to
tune out the gaytards so intently trying to
make the atmosphere clammy and odorous.
now that's some clawhammer hottness,
and some three-finger pickety-plucking, duders.
when the lightning-striking fast fiddle ferocity,
and the ramblin' banjo mastery can overwhelm
the rest of my pessimistic senses?
wordimus prime, kids.
that's what i'm talkin' about.
*
we fueled up on green elephant,
so we were stuffed to the brim beforehand.
and,
we stocked up on treats at the fancy grocers
down there within the feel-good lefty city limits.
it's hard trying to tolerate the mincy, minky mealy-mouthed
mainers who bumper-sticker campaign,
and recycled tote-bag greenify everything....
luckily,
i had visions of messrs. mosin-nagant to see me through.
that's a thing.
*
steve martin, suckas.
rare bird alert.
get that album.
it has what you need.
unless you're an A*-hole.
fact;
never quiet, never soft.....