Hot Tub BOOtenanny
It's Fright Night! Howlowe'en!
I resist with great difficulty the temptation to color alternate letters and will satisfy myself with only this small albeit garish orange orange. I was trying to come up with a scary theme for today's blog, and realized that I had just used up a good one, the sticky, gooey squeezebrain.
I am a Kingston Trio fan. I found out long ago that Lisa the Lifeguard, despite being of a far different decade, is also a Kingston Trio fan. I was sitting in the coed hot tub at the gymnasium when Lisa, having just finished giving a swimming lesson, joined me there. Another member, Dolly, whose age appeared to be more commensurate with KT fandom, turned out to be fan as well. Not so long after this confluence, a number of tunes rang out, enthusiastically if not fully living up to the moniker "tune."
I don't give a damn about a greenback dollar,
And so forth. We were having so much fun, in fact, that we decided to hold a "hot tub hootenanny" Monday of the following week which was actually two days ago. I'm sure you understand how dates can get twisted in blogland. I tasked Rob, the pool manager, to have a friend of his fetch a banjo*. (Rob the taskee failed miserably, and we ended up 100% banjo-free.)
You're probably not scared yet, but that's because I've neglected to tell you about a new gadget I just got. It's a portable stereo audio recorder. I brought it with me to this putative musical festivity, and recorded the proceedings. Note how the splendid acoustical environment of a tiled swimming pool enclosure enhances the experience of listening to two people who can't sing bellowing words they barely remember. In honor of Hallowe'en, I dub this travesty-of-the-month award-winning recording a Hot Tub BOOtenanny. Click and suffer along...
*Musician Joke - This should help you calm down
A banjo player and his girlfriend went shopping in the mall, leaving his banjo in the back seat of the car. They're just about to complete their purchase when the banjo player turned white with a horrible realization. He had forgotten to lock the car! Leaving his girlfriend to pay for the purchase—possibly a matched set of antimacassars—he ran to the car, but it was too late. The whole back seat was filled with banjos.
Have Had A Happy Hallowe'en!
There's that date thing again.
NP: "Run Run Run" - Concrete Blonde