Five hundred bones for one hour's worth of picking at the public library opening. Where is Clark County getting that kind of cash during these tough times?
Do the taxpayers know Ridin The Blinds this? I'll just use Steve Miller's advice and "Take the money and run. Maybe more leg kicking and strutting. Definitely more facial angst and pain. We should look into getting a fog machine too.
Mullets and and a fog machine. Totally Awesome!!! See if you can spot the fatal flaw in this song? Without our all too regular brain farts, we'd be a good band. This is part of 76 gas station's new ad campaign. It must be tough to advertise gas. You can't make gasoline sound fun, but you can make life on the road fun. Also at the gas station are tips on stretching and how to talk your way out of a speeding ticket.
The guide to splattered bugs is my favorite. It even looks accurate. I wish I had one of these years ago. I've had some weird stuff stuck to my bumper driving through Montana. Thursday, November 19, Babble-Head Night. Thursday, November 12, Swimming against the Headlines. Every year I watch the salmon run, and every year I read about the low numbers of returning fish. Although it's amazing to watch a salmon struggle upstream, when you only see a handful it's worrisome.
I don't want to believe they're doomed, but I haven't seen evidence otherwise — until this year. The first time I saw the salmon run was in Whatcom Creek. It runs right through downtown Bellingham, Washington into the Puget Sound. It's no more than 15 feet wide, and I didn't believe a fish the size of a salmon would go up it. When October arrived, so did the salmon.
I was excited to see them bull their way up the creek. That afternoon, I only saw five fat Chum Salmon in the water and one in the fish ladder. The fishermen that lined the creek had hauled a few more to the banks. Any fish that made it to the fish ladder seemed lucky, as the fishhooks greatly the outnumbered fish.
This seemed to be the norm each time I visited the creek that fall. Last year was a similar story at Oregon's Salmon River, minus the anglers. I walked the banks with a friend scouting for fish, but only spotted two Chums. They were trying to charge up a turbulent chute to the next pool.
They pushed hard to conquer the current, thrashing their tails and churning the water, but failed time and time again.
Eventually one Chums' persistence paid off. The other remained stifled by the latest obstacle in its long journey from the sea.
Would enough salmon survive to return or was the river's name a relic? I arrived at Eagle Creek this year amidst an early winter storm. The plan was to hike and look for fish. The creek ran high and rain pock-marked the water, but I spotted a fish before reaching the creek. At the bank I spotted two more and then another upstream. As I scanned the river, Coho Salmon lined the banks, filled the eddies, and sat in the seams of calm water.
Some shot up the creek during spurts of excitement, their crimson sides glimmering under the grey skies. I stopped on the bridge over the creek to count the fish. There were about 20 in view. Then I discovered a small backwater with 20 more salmon. It was only a couple inches deep and many dorsal fins broke the surface. Some fish moved slowly up the backwater, others chased adversaries, but most rested on the rocky bottom, Ridin The Blinds.
More salmon entered the backwater from downstream. To gain the higher ground, they skittered along the gravel bottom, sometimes getting stuck in the shallows.
Although the scraping looked brutal, the backwater seemed a needed break from the main current. I left the salmon for a few hours to hike in the rain. I returned sopping wet from the waist down, but dry under my rain coat. My shoes sloshed so much I decided to walk into the backwater, where I found two dead salmon. They were scarred from their journey, but they were done. They were a success story.
At the head of the pool a few fish pushed back into the main current. They looked ready to continue, and I was confident their offspring would someday return to run. Tuesday, November 10, The White Eagle. Our show at the White Eagle has been on my mind since it was booked. It finally came and went. It was a Monday night full of surprises, misunderstandings and songs for the deaf.
The Butterflies. I was tense the morning of the show. I went through my day thinking about guitar parts and trying to remember lyrics. I even played a few songs before leaving the house. I've never played at a legitimate venue and the White Eagle Saloon is one of the best in town. I've also never played a show with other bands. I don't really want to admit it, but I value the respect of other musicians. Although I play strictly for my own entertainment, if people must listen, I want other musicians and my friends to be impressed.
I could care less about strangers, but I often use them as a litmus test. If they look happy and don't head for the door, then I probably sound decent. Musicians and friends always offer a kind review, but strangers leave when the notes turn sour. Although playing for people is nerve-racking, using a microphone makes me equally jittery.
In the past I've strained to hear clearly while using amplifiers. Fortunately, the White Ridin The Blinds is known to have a good sound system and monitors. Finally some clarity. No more lost sounds and reverberations. I'd be able to hear my guitar, my voice and all the other instruments. Although still feeling shy, I was sort of excited to play in front of an audience. Now, if I could only relax before we took the stage. For a months we've played gigs without a band name. Finally we had a massive brainstorming session.
During the outburst, I blurted out "The Tailwalkers," a term used to describe a jumping fish. I thought it was OK, but not great, because it was confusing to non-fishermen. I went out of town and when I returned that was our name. Since then I've joked about calling us the "Tallywhackers. Eventually she looked it up.
Now she giggles when its mentioned. When we arrived at the White Eagle there were show posters and our name was misspelled. We were the "Talewalkers," which is arguably a better name. The band before us ended their last song.
Then my nerves came up. I began buzzing. We were on next. The band's singer said a parting word, "Thanks. We enjoyed playing for you tonight. Coming up next are The Tallywhackers. When he came off stage, we told him our real name. I wasn't joking. I actually thought you guys were The Tallywhackers. I couldn't believe he beat me to the punchline. At least the humor eased my nerves before stepping on stage.
I barely heard the banjo kick off the first song. I reacted a little slow and adjusted to the tempo after a few beats. Things still felt out of synch though. I was nervous and couldn't strum fluidly or hold my pick. I stepped up to the mic for the first verse and my words died inside the microphone. Even without amplification, I could barely hear my voice. I kept singing and the sound guy adjusted the sound levels. Finally my voice came through the speakers. I still couldn't hear my guitar though.
Amplifying an acoustic guitar with a microphone is always a challenge, but I trusted the sound crew knew the methods.
During the next song the sound guy fiddled with the mixer. He tried for a minute without success and then went outside Ridin The Blinds a smoke. I kept playing my lifeless instrument. My notes fell to the floor like stones, unheard even by me. It made my guitar feel like a flimsy toy. I tried to strike my notes inline with the muddled bass vibrations, but I knew I was off. Playing off rhythm made my stomach turn. The sound guy returned to try more adjustments, but nothing worked.
I got closer to the mic and received humming feedback. It was a loss and I could only just keep playing. At times the band sounded cohesive, but instruments also drifted off tempo or fell silent.
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People find them easy to install and love the classic look of these blinds. For simple window blinds that will add privacy and block light, these budget 1-inch Vinyl Mini Blinds available from Home Depot are hard to beat for value.
Available in either a white or beige color to blend Ridin The Blinds a variety of color schemes, these vinyl blinds are fade-resistant and washable. Despite the bottom budget price, these blinds have a cordless design that is safer for children and pets.
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The potentially damp and humid conditions of the bathroom or kitchen can wreak havoc on wooden blinds. We like these cordless blinds with 2-inch vinyl slats for their easy operation. However these blinds are easily trimmed up to two inches on either side of the slats if you need to adjust the width.
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These blinds are our top pick for bedrooms, thanks to their routeless slate design. Routeless slats mean that a small notch in the edge of each slat is used to run a cord that keeps the blinds together — instead of the typical holes found in conventional blinds. When closed, these holes allow light to filter through — a problem for late sleepers or anyone who wants to keep out strong sunlight.
The routeless slats of the Veneta Classic blinds solve this dilemma. These blinds are available to order according to the size of your windows, and also allow you to choose from a variety of stains and colors.
Instrumental Love - Kizilok - Going Nowhere Days (CDr, Album), La Estación - Mecano - Ya Viene El Sol (CD, Album), A Body Flap Of Skin - Carnival Of Carnage - They Keep Coming Back!! (CD), Largo - Boccherini* / Tartini* / Mercadante* ; Severino Gazzelloni, I Musici - Flute Concertos (Viny, Gave Til Deg - Guren Hagen - Dine Fotefar (CD, Album), Last, In A Manner Of Speaking - Martin L Gore* - In A Manner Of Speaking (Vinyl), Für Mi Bist A Blöder Hund - Vola (2) - Für Mi Bist A Blöder Hund (Vinyl)