AIN'T SHE A BEAUTIFUL SIGHT ...

I arrived home from FilKONtario last night safely and without incident. A ridiculously long-winded post about the weekend will follow forthwith. Well, not all that forthwith. It's too nice a day, and I don't go back to work until tomorrow afternoon.

Time for one quick observation, though: En route to the con Friday, I chanced upon a country station and found to much bemusement and a tiny bit of horror that someone out there has remade "Convoy."

Yup. That "Convoy." At least 25 years after the CB tsunami that spawned it. A faithful cover, with not a hint of irony.

Although I hypothesize that an utterly straightforward and excessively sincere approach to delivering absurdities is in fact a subtle form of ironic detachment. Yup: Sincerity is the new irony.

I need more coffee. Or less.

***

Sounds & Images: A weekend full of 'em. Currently, "One Last Dance" (Bill Roper)

THE TALE THAT CHILLS MY SPIRIT

"Self," I says to myself tonight, with a relaxing, commitment-free evening awaiting before I go back to work tomorrow afternoon, "Self, you've got to get serious about practicing that there guitar in the corner.

"Specifically, self," I continues, "You've got to work on them there D-family chords, and the facility of transitioning therein -- that there D, G and E minor."

And what should occur to Self? It should occur that Duane Elms' "Dawson's Christian" is composed entirely in D-family chords.

What's more, it actually sounded like "Dawson's Christian" when Self strummed it. Sort of. It may have helped that I was singing it whilst Self was strumming it.

I also says to myself, "Self, where the %$#@&*$^% did this 'I says to myself' conceit come from?"

***

Sounds & Images: The tale of Jayme Dawson and his crew, naturally
State O'Mind: Not entirely incompetent. Yay!!!

FILKONTARIO, PART ONE

And so I embark upon the traditional rite of filk-type people upon returning from a filk convention: The Ritual Posting a Recap of One's Convention Experiences for the Edification (and Frustration) of Filkers Who Couldn't Make It and for Letting Those Who Did Make It Know What Was Going On in the Room Around the Corridor. To the uninitiated, your mileage (and patience) may vary, so it's going behind a cut. It's also going behind a cut because I probably won't shut up for about twenty paragraphs or so.

So here we go: ( HOW DAVE SPENT HIS WEEKEND, PART THE FIRST )