It all started with the Great Quail ( above ) inviting the entire feglist to a party at his place in Harrisberg. This was potentially a MAJOR event for everyone in the States, whilst we Antipodeans and Brits watched from afar with bated breath . What would take place with all these weirdos together in one place at once ? , the psychic repercussions were awesome. Fortunately, not all fegs manged to attend , so the apocalypse was avoided and the Quail was not able to convert them all into scientologists.!
(This is still incomplete as there are some missing posts regarding Carl Palmer and some other insanity yet to be culled from the lists ...)
Oh ye Fegs,
I apologize to the rest of the List, but who knows -- maybe this will cause some of you to use up some Frequent Flyer miles.
Recently, LJ, Bayard, and myself have been discussing throwing a Feg party, an East Coast Gathering, yes, a hootenanny to shake the heavens. I've never been at a hootenanny, or at least I don't think I have, and I think it's high time that I took care of this regrettable situation.
So. . . .
What about it?
I am thinking of May 16 as a potential date, and the location would be my house in Harrisburg Pennsylvania. We are, actually, the capital of this grand Commonwealth, *not* Pittsburgh or Philly, as you may recall if you remember your 8th grade geography.
This gathering would start around 3 pm and could possibly involve the following things:
1. A yummy barbecue: hot dogs, hamburgers, prawns, squid -- the usual suspectsI would also like to add that Fegs can certainly bring a guest or two, provided they keep any pets larger than 2.67 ounces at home; and being a Deadhead from many years back, I have no objections to any mild personal recreational entertainments that go outside the limits of #2, 7, and 14 above; and I additionally swear I *never* hosted such an event for the Gong List.
Harrisburg is conveniently located in central PA, and is:So you see, most of us should be able to make it!
My house is on a small plot of land, and though it has a large porch, it is set into the side of a hill, so outdoor sports must be confined to lawn darts and shooting randomly at passersby. It is fairly secluded, and has three narrow storeys, so there is space for a chill-out room, a musical gatheringplace, a small dancefloor, and a wombatorium for you Aussies in attendance.
One small warning: I own two cats, so those with allergies (me included) be prepared.
I was also thinking of this as an idea: every Feg guest brings a 60-90 minute mixed tape of their personal favorote songs (One imposed Limit: two Robyn songs?). These tapes are then placed in a big wicker Thoth-head and then we have a random drawing later in the evening . . . ?
So, in closing, I think we can have a grand old time. All interested parties please email me privately, and I will set up a seperate mailing list for the party, where we can discuss other ideas, travel directions, and the locations of Taco Bell restaurants along the way. Also, May 16 is tentative, so let me know if another date would be better. . . .
luther went a bit too far....
>I wish it was the "thing that eats hippies..." :-)(dead
milkmen quote, anyone?)
Steady on my man, I beg to remind you that if we did have a thing that ate Hippies, we would be minus a huge swag of good music not only from the hippie era, but also that which comes after, anyway, weren't youlooking for some early Floyd recently ? Which might make you the things first victim..........
However, if we could have a *selective* thing that ate hippies, then there would be no chance of Carl Palmer turning up at the fegfest , i'm afraid he's joining me in a collective manifestation where we will materialise at the Quails house into a brace of inanimate objects, so you may be sitting, voiding your bowels onto , inhaling, ingesting, walking on, sleeping or swimming in bits of Carl partygoers, now isn'that a reassuring fact, huh?
I promise I'll be more discrete, in fact ,I will try to reside in Quail's statue of Cthulhu, so if you want tocome up and have a chat to me anytime during the evening feel free to do so,the talk may be a bit one sided but I will be a good listener and perhaps the more legless of the company could pour their maudlin drunken droolings collective ear , I will be prepared to put up with this if it means thatthe god will be diverted from assisting Quail in his various plottings and ner-do wellery. Now I know this is probably risky behaviour on my part, BUT it will only be my astral projection, soI'll be able to piss off out of there if things get rough. I figure I owe it to the fegs present to try to do my best to keep some sort of sanity level and prevail on Cthulhu to ease off on some of the psychic madness that I know it and Quail have decided to unleash on you unsuspecting buggers . Fear not , I will do my best for you (yes I know that's not very reassuring, but beggers can't be chosers, it will just have to do ) ,and I will of course be helped along the way in the form of any offerings youcan make in the way of stimulants to the statue during the course of the evening ,which will keep my astral projection in a good mood.
Attention fellow Fegs.Urgent , Urgent. !!!!!!!!!!
A dire warning to all of you party attendees,I have it on good authority that this fegfest is simply another of the Quails fiend plots to subvert the list. He intends to flood the party with fellow scientologists who will brainwash you all with subliminal messages to join up and denote substantial sums to the cause. At the stroke of midnight they will emerge from cupboards, under the sink, the chimney and from the depths of the secret laboratory just when you are all nicely inebriated and ripe for conversion. You will not know them as they all will be wearing thoth t shirts , they will vomit freely on occasions and will be carrying cones and cassette decks so they can blend in.
My best advice is to sic Carl Palmer on them when he materialises or just do not attend. Go back, go back , before it is too late!!!!!
To all ye Fegs trembling in anticipation of the party this Saturday, some announcements:
1. The Directions are now complete. Check the FegFest Web site for details.
2. Last minute Fegs are more than welcome to show up! Come on -- how far can it really be to road trip from Chicago? Look at Mike -- even as you read this, Mr. Runion is on his way from sunny Florida! You can use him as a shining example -- just stick a small effigy of St. Runion on your dashboard and pick up a map of Pennsylvania. . . .
3. Weather so far looks like it will be nice, high seventies, and maybe a chance of a small T-storm or two.
4. I am serious about the swimming hole!
Some personal Feg Announcements:
SCARY MARY is bringing:
>My Gorey booksTERRENCE MARKS wrote to me:
>Yeah. I *may* be going to that partySo Terry . . . .what do you think? Yes? Come on!!! You *know* you want to make fun of Eb with the rest of us! And hey -- I have the whole Moody Blues catalog on CD!
Has sent a picture of himself, and threatened to materialize as a random inanimate object. I for one would be thrilled if someone could acquire a stuffed platypus for such a corpreal event!
Well, I hope to see most of you on Saturday! This is going to be one crazy time, and I hope that the local cops are fond of Robyn, too. . . .
PS -- hey Gnat -- as your plane comes in for a landing at Harrisburg International Airport, be sure to look out your window . . . yes, that nuke plant RIGHT NEXT TO THE AIRPORT is Three Mile Island!
PS: Sorry for the gratuitous
use of !!!s
I just returned from the fegfest in a filthy mood. What a waste of time!. I spent six hours getting into a trance state so I could astral travel from my place to the Quail shack. This is no mean feat in itself,as to get in the trance I had to repeat the chorus of "rock & roll Toilet" as a mantra for about six hours ,which i did in our dunny (toilet) because of the nice echo in there which allows me to get into the mood faster. I could hear the wife and kids banging on the door of the bog for the first hour or so, but after a while either they stopped or I got into a fugue and the next thing I know I'm in the body of the Cthulhu statue in the Quailhouse.
Now I knew I might be onto a loser here from the start, as it was only my efforts to prevent mayhem that prompted me to actually get into the godhead, I mean with my powers I could have manifested intoanything, one of the Quails old jockstraps, a fegtape, a bottle of liquor or some other popular item and that way I would really have seenthe party in style. But muggins had to pick Cthulhu, what a total prannet! It took me some time or orientate myself for starters, as seeing through what Cthulhu has in the way of eyes is not exactly easy.
The problem with being in a totally alien body of an impossibly ancient pan galactic godhead is that they have completely different ways of seeing to us, let alone thinking. I reckon Cthulhu must have at least 500 different modes of perception up against my dozen or so ( i know, I know, we mortals are supposed to have fewer than that but my friends of feg training has honed up a few extra which I've been keeping quiet about up till now) and it was bloody murder trying to work out which of its orifices did what and which bits heard, saw and smelt. After a bit I think I managed to sort out the hearing at least , as I started picking up a few noises and vague blurs that I think were Fegs, but christ knows, the way Cthulhu sees things is so freaking weird they could have been penguins for all I know, everything looked crystalline and the colours were strangely refracted and bent as though I was looking through a Kaleidoscope.. .Just trying to see and hear gave me a whopper headache. Eventually things began to make moresense and it appeared that I was in a room with various vague figures floating about. The mood was somewhat subdued as apparently Bayard and Gross had attempted to eat the contents of Jon Fetters parcel and had been rushed to hospital to have their stomach's pumped. Also the Quail's hamster ( on which he had been conducting some of his more grotesque experiments) had gotten out of its enclosure and had eaten half of bayard's Dat masters . So all in all , it wasn't really his day.
Of Carl Palmer, I saw neither hide nor hair, which made me even more flustered, as I've been confidently predicting the arrival of the little bleeder at the party for months. I reckon the silly sod had just got side-tracked in stalking that daft woman that Vinnie's s always rabbiting on about. So all in all it was real downer and then to cap it all, I heard Nat tell Quail just what she *did *say when Jerry Garcia died. The next thing I know the airs turning blue with epithets ( and I thought the Quail was a man of peace) and I'm grasped by what passes for my throat and I'm being waved in the air. Theres a god almighty crash and a female scream that's cut off in mid shout and my statue body shatters ( I hope not against Nats skull, but who knows, things were confused enough what with seeing through kaleidoscope eyes an all). I felt myself slipping out of the godheads body, but the last thing I heard was the sound of distant sirens and then everything turned black........ I came to on my toilet floor , feeling like I'd been put through the wringer.
That's the last time I try to prevent one of the Quails plans.Perhaps another of the surrealistic posse can try , but then again if what I heard pans out then the Quail is probably up for murder one or assault and battery at least. But then knowing him, he'll wriggle out ofthe rap some way or another.
well I'm off to drown my sorrows by listening to 10-4 -94 , Rh at the crocodile cafe . Perhaps we will find out just what happened tomorrow when they all get out of the slammer.
I realize life in Australia can be very difficult. James Dignan is a short plane ride away in New Zealand and he has some really interesting friends who might be able to help you through this difficult time. I can email him for you, if you like, and set up an appointment. Oops, er, I mean meeting. No, er, I mean lunch date.
Try to think pleasant thoughts--stamps without the queen's head on them, flowers blooming in the desert, a sweet koala stroking your hair gently as you swing in your hammock....
Everything's OK Dave, just relax, take a deep breath....
I awoke in a hospital bed, head and sides covered in bruises. "Where....am I?" I feebly croaked to the nurse, who explained that I was in the University of Michigan Hospital, Metempsychosis Unit, having been unconscious since Sunday afternoon. Apparently, throughout my coma, I had been babbling in an Australian accent, claiming to be someone named "Day-lang." "Can you tell me what happened?" the nurse asked. I furrowed my brow as I tried to reconstruct the events...
Saturday afternoon, and I reclined in my super-keen hyperspace private plane, sipping some neutral milk and preparing for take-off. Suddenly, my ibis-headed pilot thrust his head into the main cabin and explained in his twittering avian voice that departure would be delayed while the ground crew hunted down some Grateful Dead albums to help fuel the Eb-engine,which had run out of things to fume about. Since we were, after all, mere miles from Ann Arbor (Deadhead capital of the Midwest), I expected only a short delay, but the ground crew forgot that I-94 was under construction and it was nearly an hour before we could get underway.
Milliseconds later, we burst into the air over Harrisburg, a glittering metropolis on the banks of the sunny Susquehanna. As the plane dipped low over the glowing hulk of Three Mile Island, Captain Thoth announced over the PA, "Attention: we are now entering Quailspace." "Deflector shields up," I replied...
I stepped into the Harrisburg Airport with a deep sense of apprehension. I could see neither hide nor feather of the Quail. I hardly knew what the Quail looked like - maybe I was overlooking him? Maybe he had gone to thewrong gate? Then I saw the cone being enthusiastically waggled over the heads of the crowd, and I knew I was in the right place.
"I can't believe you're actually here!" the Quail screeched with glee as the car hurtled along the highway and LJ detailed the exact effects of the cone being driven through her chest in the case of an accident. ("I'll be able to smoke cigarettes through it!") I too could hardly believe that I was in the presence of people I had only known as semi-mythical beings hovering in the pixelated void - The Great Quail! LJ! Chris Gross, squid pornographer! It was almost too much to bear.
We reached the Quail's domain, a modest-looking three-story house that nevertheless seemed overlaid with a curious taint, as if transplanted from gloomy Innsmouth. I followed the others inside and started introducing myself and passing out Thoths. (These later started turning up in very odd places - poking out of a sock, hanging from the chandelier, etc. - and seemed to multiply overnight. But I digress.) Nobody looked the way I expected them to look, but I was expecting that.
Eventually everyone gathered on the back porch to eat, drink, and schmooze.It was here that Woj heard Neutral Milk Hotel for the first time. (Tom Clark later gave him a copy of the album, lovingly inscribed "Woj - this sucks. - TC") It was here, too, that I was forced at camcorder-point to create images of Elder Gods and Victorian playwrights out of tinfoil. I wanted to try Brewer Tom's beer, but was warned away by LJ who claimed that Liam had had his head blown off by tampering with the keg. (He was sleeping off his decapitation upstairs.) A blunder while creating the tinfoil Oscar Wilde resulted in a perfect portrait of the headless Liam.
Around nightfall, the Fegs trickled, slithered, and staggered downstairs for the serious party action to begin. Mike and I massacred some Neutral Milk Hotel songs (well, I massacred them, anyway), we had a cheery singalong of "Ye Sleeping Knights of Jesus" and other Robynsongs, and then it was time to bust out the party favors. Scary Mary brought an incredible array of small plastic reptiles and amphibians, tiny British flags, and inflatable plastic eyes. Nick Winkworth sent some frets. I can't remember what Eddie sent, because the envelope was so hilarious (Quail, could you scan it, maybe?). Steve Schiavo sent all sorts of things, including a box of genuine Cheesy Poofs (tm); he also sent me some XTC paraphernalia (Thank you, Steve! BTW, where did you get that sticker? Did you raid Mark Strijbos's stash?). Jon Fetter sent Lonely God (tm) potato twists and some dried cuttlefish, of which we all partook in a sort of Feg communion - although I don't think Catholics generally run to the sink after communion to wash the taste of the Eucharist out of their mouths... or do they?
Then it was time for James' Feg Game. The gameboard was a beer-soaked piece of computer printout, and our gamepieces were Scary Mary's cold-blooded creatures. Unfortunately, the instructions and cards were written in Kiwi, which we were unable to translate, and so the game had to be abandoned. Sorry, James... :)
More drinking and schmoozing followed. From the porch, the charming sounds of "Metal Machine Music" could be heard echoing down the street. (Quail, which of your neighbors is a Lou fan?) At the suggestion of the Quail, we decided to head down to Ye Olde Swimmin' Hole (though it was too cold for swimming), so we all trooped off to stroll by the banks of the muddy Conna-whosis. It turned out that some ex-students of the Quail had already built a fire in the Quail's favorite spot, so we hunkered down and stared hypnotized at the flames while Brewer Tom showed amazing facility in keeping the blaze going, and a sozzled Quail told us the spleen-chilling tale of "Polkadot, the Indian Hand."
By the time we got back to the Quail's house, it was three in the morning and even the ghost of coherent conversation had fled. I curled up in a corner of the couch and tried to sleep, but was kept awake first by Woj snoring, then by Brewer Tom snoring, then by the two together, then by the Quail's hungry cats, who apparently didn't find Liam enough of a feast for them. Somehow, I did manage to get some sleep, and woke to a sunny morning and the threat of pancakes.
After breakfast, I went around taking photos to use up the rest of my film (the photos will appear on my website as soon as I get them developed and scanned - probably in a week or so). Then I went up to the porch whereMike was strumming away, and joined him for a few songs. After a rendition of "She Doesn't Exist" (with Stipean "la la la's" from the assembled Fegs), it was time for me to go, before I turned back into a pumpkin. I gathered up my things and prepared to depart.
It was at this point that the unfortunate incident with the statue of Cthulhu occurred. As I slumped to the floor, bleeding profusely, I felt another terrific blow to the ribs and a familiar, Woj-like voice shouting,"That one's for Tori!"
And that's all I remember, Nurse...
n., who really did have a great time, despite the stitches
nat wrote most truthfully
> It was at this point that the unfortunate incident with the statue ofYou see Marcy, it wasn't just a perverse fantasy dreamt up by an egocentric old fart who was carrying wish fulfilment to the ninth degree, it was all true!. Every bleeding word. Now I know nobody else mentioned the incident in their posts, but they wouldn't would they . ?
Why? Because they all have been brainwashed by the Quail after the incident so he could concoct some cock and bull story to palm off the old Bill ( police to you oiks) and wriggle out of the charge ( as I said he would ). Nat was the only one to emerge with her memory intact because she was hospitalized.
I did consider that the whole Fegfest was a complete fantasy dreamt up by the Quail and peopled by his fake list members, in fact that was one reason why I astral planed over to check things out, but once there I knew this was the real thing.
Anyway I hope this restores everyone's faith as to my sanity and veracity and I would expect that Marcy would do the right thing and go down on her knees and abase herself and apologize publicly for humiliating me in front of all you nice folks out there in fegland, but
I suppose this is too much to ask ?( giving you the opening for a nice one liner reply there Marcy)
Np " I'm a teapot ", by the Howling Maniacs
Many thanks to the feggers that made the 'fest such a blast. LJ and Quail, you guys are like THERE, all the way. TC, I wish I coulda talked with you more...and your pal, a swank Cope drude! Actually, I wished I could have talked a good deal more with all of ya, but I picked up some weird cold virus thingy down south (Ken Sabatini, what was in that chimichanga?) and I could barely get a word out without being thrown into a hacking spell. Ah, the glorious feg coven squatting there beside the dying embers along the Mis-qua-what-its-name River, Utility/Brewer/Useful/Firegod Tom trampling through the underbrush in search of wood, the stillness of the night and...the echoing sound of the Florida guy coughing up a lung or two. Lovely.
Nat, your tin (whoops, sorry...Aluminum!) sculptures were wonderous, and Mary, you were like way more normal that I'd expected. Very cool. Woj, Bayard, Doug, Mary, Chris, Gene, Catherine...you all were just right in there. Woj, your train-car loads of tapes was just too intimidating to pick from, and Bayard, your monster pile of tape-decks was more impressive than the Eiffel Tower. Doug, your songs were trippy and wild.
Hey all, he does a simply powerful acoustic cover of...what's the Shriekback song again? Man that was good. "Big Black Nemesis...prehistoric genesis..." or whatever the words were.
By the way, I snagged Quail's "The Real Diva" cassette, which flittered through the air while I was stopped for half-an-hour behind an accident on I-95 just north of Daytona Beach. I got a few odd looks from the UPS drivers leaning against their semi, but I assured them all was well.
Maybe I should have buried the bunny and taken my tin-foil thoth out of my pocket.
I know I'm forgetting tons, but all in all, I had a terrific time up there in sleazy, backwater, freezing PA. Next time warn me that it's gonna be winter in May up there. Geez.
Just for the record, I thought the chewy squid wasn't that bad. And despite woj's remark to the contrary, I do not sound like Ray Davies...well, maybe a 100-year old Ray with tuberculosis. Who knows.
The Great Quail
A rousing big THANK YOU to all of you, to all the Fegs who attended the party, who sent us things in the mail, and who called up and filled my voicemail with oddly but cheerfully accented voices.
Overall it was a delightful success, and I for one am pleased to finally make the acquaintance of many wonderful Fegs. I have thrown a lot of parties in my life as a gallinaceous bird, but rarely have I ever seen such a group of kind, helpful, generous people. Thank you so *much*! As a matter of fact, the next day Bayard mentioned throwing a winter cabin Fegparty in Virginia, sometime in Decemeber. We also talked a lot about making FegFest an annual event, perhaps rotating around the country . . . For instance, FegFest 99 might be held in Chicago, at Susan Dodge's grandmother's house.
I would love to write a full account of the event, and perhaps in a few days I will, if I get the time. But for now, let me jusy say a few things:
1. Someone left a grey longsleeved shirt. It smells vaguely of squid. Chris?
2. Someone also left the fragments of their sanity. Oddly enough, they look just like tinfoil sculptures of Cthulhu.
3. And EVERYONE left *all* the L. Ron Hunbbard books I handed out as party favors! Really! Did you all have to follow Dave Lang's warning so closely? L. Ron is our *friend* -- say it over and over again. . . . And in regards to Mr. Lang's warning, surely none of us saw strangely T-shirted drunkards with tape decks, now did we?
4. Those Fegs who went to the Thoth Fire Circle by the Miskatonic River -- check yourself for ticks. I found one on my clothing the next day! (If you do find a tick, sent it to Scary Mary. She collects them.)
5. To the callers -- Mr. Dignan and the BritFestFegs -- thanks for calling! I'm sorry we didn't get to the phone, but things were, um, a wee bit chaotic throughout May 23-24, and apparently someone had unplugged the ringer on my phone! But here's the really strange thing, Mr. Godwin - seriously! -- all next day I was humming "The Gnome" BEFORE I heard your message! Weird, innit? And Nick -- was that really your accent, or were you just pretending to be a football hooligan to fit in? (And for the record, James Dignan does say "G'day mate!")
6. Tom -- My potted plant misses you, and wants to know when you'll be back for another dance. And I would also like to thank you for installing that secret 456 MHz processor into my Macintosh! And tell your friends that they are welcome in Fegworld anytime, they were wonderful. And Gene, I'm sorry if I said you looked like Morrisey. I meant, um, MorriSON, yeah, as in Jim Morrison, the sexy virile youthful rock and roll god. . .
. . 7. Momento Department: LJ has taken on the solemn duty of scanning in certain objects of partyphernalia, such as a few letters and Eddie's Enigmatic Envelope, which was quite the unexpected attraction. Doug has already posted some of his pictures, and Natalie has promised another group of scanned in pictures to follow. Mike Runion took more video footage than Pamela and Tommy Lee, and God only knows what he'll do with that. . . . .
8. The Mixed Tapes: So . . . .who got whose mixed tapes? I know that Natalie got Mary's, LJ got Gene's, I got Woj's, and Professor Fane got Jon Fetter's. I'm personally curious who snagged the others?
9. To those who mailed in things, listed in order of receiving them:
(a) James, your Kiwi served us in good stead, and we made sure that it was always at the heart of the party, beaming its antipodeal benevolence at us. Um, the game seemed really really interesting and, er, complex -- which is why we *should* have played it at the BEGINNING of the evening when we all understood the rules. Next time we will play this while the majority of us are still in a shape to recall who Robyn Hitchcock really *is* and why we are playing a game about him! (Killer question cards, though! I say we get little cones made up for December!)
(b) Nick, although no one brought a minidisc player, your frets were passed out to all the Fegs in attendance. LJ pointed out that they make really good pipecleaners. LJ also seems to have absconded with your totem effigy, that cute little orange quail. I just hope she doesn't have a box of pins and an intimate knowledge of voodoo. . . .
(c) Steve! Steve, no one could believe the amount of party favours you sent, and they all went to very good homes! Thank you again! And you will be very happy to know that the box of Cheesy Poofs were, in fact, worshipped. (Actually, several things were alternately worshipped at various times during the evening: the Cheesy Poofs, Natalie's tinfoil creations, Mike Runion's glowing bunny, Bayard's Taper Monolith, and Utility Tom.)
(d) Eddie, people *fought* over who got your mixed tape. I mean, their was blood and hair flying everywhere! Additionally, you will get something very strange and vaguely edible in the mail within a week. . . .
(e) Jon Fetter -- I don't know what was more surprising, that Bayard actually recognized "Lonely God Potato Twists" and ate them all, or that we all -- ALL of us -- formed a circle and passed around some of your dried Tastee Squid. And. Then. Ate. It. You may also be pleased to know that, thanks to Doug, there was a whole CASE of Yuengling Porter available. We tried to throw the beer bottles at passing members of the law enforcement community, but they were too busy making Natalie late for her plane, and all the empty bottles seemed to vanish rather quickly, anyway. Hmm. Who didn't want any empty bottles hanging around --?
(f) Glen Uber -- A lovely letter and picture! Your image was never far from James the Kiwi, and we made many a toast under your happy smiling face! I just hope that we didn't get you drunk enough to fall back into that cavern. . . . and that look on Carol's face: "Why is that giant stuffed Kiwi staring at me, and is it hungry?" Also thanks for the tape
- it's great! (Nice cover, too.)
(g) Dave Lang -- I passed around your wonderful postcard, and the general consensus was that the one with the brain helmet was probably the real you. We also looked for you to incarnate as an inanimate object, but if you did, you were prpbably either tossed into the fire by Brewer Tom or twisted into Oscar Wilde by Natalie. Sorry, mate.
Well, there you have it, and again, thank you very very much to all who helped out in mind, body, and spirit. Especially thanks to LJ, who was an unspeakably wonderful co-host and even wore a tie-dye shirt; to Bayard, who tended the Monolith as if he were truly the Chosen One; to Woj, for picking out such great beer and getting the propane; and to Doug for figuring out how to use my tool-set. Thanks to Natalie, Mike, and Tom, for coming so far to see if we were really as weird as they are; to Chris for the Czech lessons, to J Kat for bringing music *none* of us have ever heard of, to Gene for showing us all a Feg can indeed find a non-Feg mate who will put up all of us (Yaaay April!); and to Scary Mary for knowing who the Ozric Tentacles are. And one last special thank you for Mike Runion's amazing friend Tom, without whom we would have all been more sober and a lot colder by the river. . . .
A wonderful time! I hope we have many others. Next party is at Eb's!
--The Great Quail
o The Quail lives less than 2 hours from me, as the Bayard drives. I
could have hanging with him every weekend. And now he's migrating north.
Such is the life...
Party day dawned cool and moist, casting doubt on the necessity of my plans to detour and inject strange gases into my car to make it colder, so my passengers would not broil in their own juices. Mary (or Scary Mary,as she likes to be called) was early. She brought so much stuff! A cool cooler made of fabric, full of drinks and food, big boxes of books and cd's and etc, too much to list really. Between her stuff and my tape decks my cavernous hatch-back was full. I left my big DAT deck at home and transferred my clothes from a bulky suitcase to a more flexible plastic grocery bag.
We rounded up Pathetic Doug and Chris Gross (what is it with you guys and adjectives?) and we were on the road. Traffic was light, as beach goers no doubt were long gone by that time. On the way we saw Turtle Beach and the WeightLifting Museum. Some construction forced us into a tiny concrete channel we couldn't see over the top of, but even so we arrived at the party before anyone else (even the Quail, who was off procuring beer and other goodies.) So we basically made ourselves at home, and introduced ourselves to the cats.
The rest you know -- but I should mention that a certain ever-lovin'blue-eyed listmeister was crackin' wise the whole weekend and really surprised and impressed lj. He also makes awesome pancakes and looks more than a little like the thunder god. by way of the gossip report, here are the people whose ears were probably burning last weekend: tracy copeland,aidan merritt, susan dodge, robyn, and others i'm forgetting right now.not to mention those of you who sent surrogates and presents. they were great - thanks!! the biggest surprise of the weekend was that no-onementioned Eb... what's up with that? actually, there was a toast to his health. we were well 'in our cups' by that point and down to the bitter dregs, but that's how he would have wanted it, no? i have never SEEN so much beer as was at this party. it was mind boggling.
Mike Runion and Nat sounded really good together. How about recording something for the next GF, perhaps using hard drive recording technology and ftp? The Robynsongs singalong was really fun. It was just fun listening to Mike and Doug play in general.
The instructions for the FegGame were just one of the many things i forgot... I forwarded then to a certain feathered friend, but early in the evening he was too drunk to remember how to access his email. And I *think* it was my idea to head to the Swimmin' Hole, though it could have been Quail's. It was almost certainly Quail's idea to call Eb. And lj had the best idea of all, which was never to mention the party on-list,maybe even just all become lurkers for a while and see what happens. Lang would be so worried! The feg-game was still fun even though we didn't play by cone-rules (we didn't have any cones anyway. I'll try and make some for the next party.)
I got Tom's mix tape. Thanks to everyone for everything. See you soon.
I have some NW airlines vouchers.
The feg hootenanny was great, I wish all of you could have been there to join in the fun.
Quail asked about the party tapes - I got Natalie's and at the last minute I also picked up the tape with Howard Stern's image on it. I'm not sure who sent this one. Should we circulate these tapes? Pass them around?
Natalie mentioned some of the party favors that I brought. As much as I'd like to claim them as my own, I am not responsible for the amphibians, lizards and snakes. I did bring the eyeballs, bats and skulls though.
Quail also mentioned that I collect ticks. Unless you find a blue Tick, please refrain from sending them to me. Spoon!
And I'd like to thank whoever sent the Bill Nelson "Crimsworth"cd. I almost had to "rochambeau" Woj for the cd but he was a gentleman and allowed me to claim it.
Much thanks to Quail and lj for being perfect party hosts and to Bayard for driving and of course to everyone for providing the fun.