ot, and possibly maudlin, in the snake river valley, about an old sweet song, or two

Conan The Librarian wrote:
"snakefiddler" wrote in message
...

"Conan the Librarian" wrote in message
...

"Giant Steps" by John Coltrane.


ah, i'm breathless-
you kick ass......

Thank you, ma'am, but I have to give credit to Trane. *He* kicks
ass.

Apropros of nothing whatsoever, it's funny that the only ROFFian
who responded to my Coltrane reference was a member of the fair sex.
I don't know whether that's a commentary on the lack of taste of the
males in ROFF, or Snakefiddler's good taste. :-)

....or maybe both of you are fem. . . nah, that couldn't be true.
--
TL,
Tim
http://css.sbcma.com/timj

On Wed, 29 Sep 2004 11:33:09 -0400, Frank Reid wrote:

I can only imagine the effect that pipes skirling "Scotland The Brave" would
have on a pool of trout in an Ozark stream.

Back in the mid 80s, I was in a campground, deep in the mountains of
Oregon. Got to hear 4 drunken bagpipers play the theme from Star Wars
at 2:30 a.m. Bone chilling. Forever after the incident was named "The
Rape of the Wild Wookie."

OK, completely OT - the English guy, Peter Mayhew, who played (and will
play in the last episode) Chewbacca (sp?) in the Star Wars movies is
now, by choice, a furniture maker in Granbury, Texas...and oddly, he
reminds me of Tom L. with curly hair...

TC,
R
....er, is there a point? No, not really...

"Frank Reid" moc.deepselbac@diersicnarf wrote in message
...
(But since most of the blood coursing through my veins is far more
English than the other three ethnic groups represented, I have a
certain "sympathy" for your position.) Now, have any of you miserable
****ers ever tried to march to the skirl of the pipes in a kilt? In a
wind? While regimental? While armed with a Claymore? And accompanied
by similarly attired French-Canadians?

No. Not whilst "regimental," just slightly mental. I was, however, wear
a kilt last weekend. Renn Fair, doncha know. My daughter was upset that
I didn't wear the Magilla Gorilla boxers underneath.

Ugh. There is something inherently illegal and overtly immoral about the
fact that your daughter knew what you were or weren't wearing beneath your
kilt. That question is for the masses as a whole.

--riverman

"Frank Reid" moc.deepselbac@diersicnarf wrote in message
...
(But since most of the blood coursing through my veins is far more
English than the other three ethnic groups represented, I have a
certain "sympathy" for your position.) Now, have any of you miserable
****ers ever tried to march to the skirl of the pipes in a kilt? In a
wind? While regimental? While armed with a Claymore? And accompanied
by similarly attired French-Canadians?

No. Not whilst "regimental," just slightly mental. I was, however, wear
a kilt last weekend. Renn Fair, doncha know. My daughter was upset that
I didn't wear the Magilla Gorilla boxers underneath.

Ugh. There is something inherently illegal and overtly immoral about the
fact that your daughter knew what you were or weren't wearing beneath your
kilt. That question is for the masses as a whole.

--riverman

No. Not whilst "regimental," just slightly mental. I was, however, wear
a kilt last weekend. Renn Fair, doncha know. My daughter was upset that
I didn't wear the Magilla Gorilla boxers underneath.


Ugh. There is something inherently illegal and overtly immoral about the
fact that your daughter knew what you were or weren't wearing beneath your
kilt. That question is for the masses as a whole.

She bought them for me.
--
Frank Reid
Reverse Email to reply

On Wed, 29 Sep 2004 20:33:25 -0400, Peter Charles
wrote:

(But since most of the blood coursing through my veins is far more
English than the other three ethnic groups represented, I have a
certain "sympathy" for your position.) Now, have any of you miserable
****ers ever tried to march to the skirl of the pipes in a kilt? In a
wind? While regimental? While armed with a Claymore? And accompanied
by similarly attired French-Canadians?

I've marched many miles to the skirl of pipes and hiked and driven countless
more. I love their sound, the wild, primitive, clarion call. It pulls me
toward it just as does the howling of wolves in the winter's dark. I've
spent many happy hours playing music of Scotland and Ireland.

I've not marched or dressed regimental and at 5'8'' I'm too short to wear or
wield a claymore effectively. Most of my recent contact with French
Canadians has revolved around trying to remember enough high school Francais
to decipher the slogans on their license plates and betting between Gloria
and I as to which party will burn first on the beach, the Germans or the
Quebequois.

--
Stev Lenon 91B20 '68-'69
When the dawn came up like thunder

http://web.tampabay.rr.com/stevglo/i...age92kword.htm

On Tue, 28 Sep 2004, Wayne Harrison wrote:

what follows is the sort of thread that would pop up around this dung hill
from time to time, a few years ago...

5 AM northbound on the Pacific Coast Highway the harvest moon is setting
over a purple sea and a river of moonlight flows out of it. The lights on
the oil rigs look like fallen stars that have come to rest on invisible
islands. The predawn glow creeps over the opposite horizon. This is the
final grace note of a sonata that is syncopated 3 months out of step with
the Julian calendar. You have to experience this music for several years
in a row before you can even begin to comprehend the whole of it. At
first you are only aware of the diurnal ostinato, the ebb and flow.
Listen long enough and the distant timpany of cetaceans, though
infrequent, becomes familiar. It all begins in the fall when the
decrescendo of mole crabs on the beach will eventually give way to to
their disappearance until next season. Winter rains portend the entrance
of the larger surfperch. Soonafter the spawning halibut will draw close
to shore where the scrub-laden sandstone cliffs explode in an intense
verdure for just a few weeks. When the water temperatures rise, a key
change brings forth the elusive corbina that dance in the swash to a
secret waltz that the fly fisherman cannot decipher. Harvest moon does
return and the music repeats once again. Through it all, I wave my 9
weight baton like an amateur conductor who thinks he knows the score but
the orchestra never plays this tune the same way twice.

__________________________________________________ _____________________ \
Mu Young Lee
remove all dashes and underscores in reply address

On Fri, 1 Oct 2004 00:14:57 -0400, Mu Young Lee
wrote:

On Tue, 28 Sep 2004, Wayne Harrison wrote:

what follows is the sort of thread that would pop up around this dung hill
from time to time, a few years ago...

5 AM northbound on the Pacific Coast Highway the harvest moon is setting
over a purple sea and a river of moonlight flows out of it. The lights on
the oil rigs look like fallen stars that have come to rest on invisible
islands. The predawn glow creeps over the opposite horizon. This is the
final grace note of a sonata that is syncopated 3 months out of step with
the Julian calendar. You have to experience this music for several years
in a row before you can even begin to comprehend the whole of it. At
first you are only aware of the diurnal ostinato, the ebb and flow.
Listen long enough and the distant timpany of cetaceans, though
infrequent, becomes familiar. It all begins in the fall when the
decrescendo of mole crabs on the beach will eventually give way to to
their disappearance until next season. Winter rains portend the entrance
of the larger surfperch. Soonafter the spawning halibut will draw close
to shore where the scrub-laden sandstone cliffs explode in an intense
verdure for just a few weeks. When the water temperatures rise, a key
change brings forth the elusive corbina that dance in the swash to a
secret waltz that the fly fisherman cannot decipher. Harvest moon does
return and the music repeats once again. Through it all, I wave my 9
weight baton like an amateur conductor who thinks he knows the score but
the orchestra never plays this tune the same way twice.

_________________________________________________ ______________________ \
Mu Young Lee


Well, ****-house-mouse, dude...Settlesworth is impressed...

TC,
R

On Fri, 1 Oct 2004 00:14:57 -0400, Mu Young Lee wrote:

Through it all, I wave my 9
weight baton like an amateur conductor who thinks he knows the score but
the orchestra never plays this tune the same way twice.

Very nice, Mu. Very nice.
--
Charlie...

"Mu Young Lee" wrote in message
pcc.itd.umich.edu...
On Tue, 28 Sep 2004, Wayne Harrison wrote:

what follows is the sort of thread that would pop up around this dung
hill
from time to time, a few years ago...

5 AM northbound on the Pacific Coast Highway the harvest moon is setting
over a purple sea and a river of moonlight flows out of it. The lights on
the oil rigs look like fallen stars that have come to rest on invisible
islands.

now *that's* what i'm talkin' about!

yfitons
wayno