German Fest of Mt. Olive, VA....

More like.... Over-rated, Dust-Fest with Shit Food and overpriced warm, lousy beer.

I understand that its the first event this organization has had at this location, and obviously there's bugs to be worked out. HOWEVER, you can not excuse poor food and drink.

Parking wasn't too much of a problem, and I'll chalk the $5.00 fee as a push, as there was no entrance fee for the grounds. There was enough staff to make sure you parked appropriately.

The day was warm (hot in the sun), and there was a large number of visitors, but no tents or shaded areas, unless you camped out next to wooded areas. The few tables that were there, were packed with people and sitting in direct sun. I didn't have a problem with any of that, but I'm sure some of the older visitors weren't too happy about it.

After arrival, the Old Guard Fife & Drum Corp were doing their thing. They were awesome. Kind gave me some hope for the event. Unfortunately, after they were finished, there was a brief interlude of really creepy German music, that instead of sounding festive, sounded more like it belonged in Das Boot down in the sub. (You had to see the movie to get that one.)

So Sis, Dirt and I got in line to get some food.... At the only vendor at the event. There was a long line, and after finally reaching the ordering area, things were a bit chaotic. The food that was there was sitting, and sitting; some looking pretty special. I went with the bratwurst with kraut, some beans and apples. Sis had the same. I'm not sure what Dirt was scarfing down, however.

While in the food line, I went over to get Sis and I a beer. $3.00 per little plastic mug, and $3.00 to fill it with beer. ... .... Which ened up being mildly cool, if not warm, Yuengling and only about 8 ounces (as half the little mug was all foamy head). That was it on the beer too. One location. Just Yuengling and Yuengling light.

So we grabbed a seat (on the ground in the sun) with our food and cup of warm beer. That's when I tried the brat. I don't think the putrid sausage ever saw a grill, and tasted like it was run under a hot water tap and served up. After almost gagging, I turned to Sis, who had a similar look on her face, and summed up the flavor as being like "eating a big ole nasty cow dick." Sis didn't eat anything else.It was just aweful food. The beans I had were hard, cold and very un-noteworthy. I don't know what they did to the poor apples, but they threw so much spicey shit all over them, I don't know what I was tasting. My plate ended up in the trash.

About the time I was chokin' down that bite of cow dick, the German band started up. Gotta give 'em credit. They were sure trying, but not many there could get in the spirit with the hot sun, inability to get a decent sized cold beer and a decent table and chair to sit at.

We all departed after a little over an hour there.

Was it worth it, you may ask?

Sure it was.

Because I could just drive down the road to Sis' and hang out. If I would have driven from Northern VA, or from where I live (for that matter) just FOR that event, I would say it would NOT have been worth it.

There was good times watching the Ole Guard and yackin on cow dick though. I won't be going back there in the future, however, unless I see them invite more (COMPETITIVE) food vendors and some decent cold beer.

Oh... and look... If someone came over to my blog by searching this event.... I really don't wanna hear your shit in defending that poor excuse for a Brewfest. It sucked. Suck it up and get it right next time.... and find someone who knows what real BBQ and German food is!

Now piss off!

Wakeman's Grove Invitational Blues Jam, Part 2

Now prior to attending the WGIBJ, and after posting my initial post about prepping the ribs, I Googled the event. Aside of finding an immediate link to the post I had just authored, I found some hits, and managed to find one with Johnboy playing some congas. I won't embed the "movie" here, but if you're that hard core, here's the link to it:
http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=45332942
Evidently that was from a song back in 2o08, and after what I saw, I vowed that night I would not be caught dead near those conga drums.

The event kicked off slow, as events like that often do, which is totally to be expected. Leo, the host, and his family were extremely nice people, and it was nice meeting them.

The evening waned and live music eventually started making an appearance. Personally, my favorite artist of the evening was an aspiring, eccentric guitar player and singer who was really on to something somewhat refreshing. Sort of wish I had his name, as I'd give him the credit due. He's got talent he can do something with.

Leo did awesome playing a slide, and Chris (a real blast from the past) remained clean and open to fill in with whatever was needed on bass. (Not fair to comment on my own brother, my readers KNOW how I view his expertise and his music preference.)

Well, those were the musicians that I personally found note-worthy among the ones I observed, and there were quite a few.

One may, but probably not, wonder what happened to the ribs... LOL... I couldn't tell you. I departed. From what I heard, upon my departure someone started hacking them up into pieces and trying to grill them individually. I'm sure the taste probably worked, but any semblence of tenderness would have taken a dive out the window. So my appologies to the Leo family for not having them done in an adequate time frame.

Thought about asking how much Leo was selling his bike for though.

Ok readers.... Piss off!

Wakeman's Grove Invitational Blues Jam, Part 1

Ok... It seems because I'm a friend of a friend (or more like a brother of a friend), I will be attending the 9th Annual Wakeman's Grove Invitational Blues Jam.

I'm'a document this shit.... as its bound to have some good war story shit by the end of it all.

This blog entry merely addresses some preparatory work regarding the event.

I was in a slight panic over the title at first (Yadda Yadda Invitational?), as my golf game sucks; especially since my shoulder is pretty much shot and my right elbow is completely shot to hell-n-gone... However... I've been assured this is a musical event. ... ... SWEET!

As I am not known by the host, I was concerned about showing up, and thus wanted to make sure I contributed as best I could. Now Leo is "Grillmaster" of this event. That's not a title to be taken lightly. I don't think I've ever even dared take on such a title, so I'm a little skittish with my contribution.

I chose ribs.

When Art (ooops...) When Johnboy related this info to Leo, it was indicated that I could assist with the grilling. Now this leads to some additional anxiety, as I'm nervous about rubbing anyone else's rhubarb, so to speak. Hell, the last thing I wanna do is infringe on the cooking expertise of a gracious host! I am assured that all is cool.

All I was hoping for was a shot at some jamming on some percussion at some point until my right arm falls off and digging some sweet music. Maybe some enchanted jam or two.

Well... RIBS it IS! It started out with a small problem, as they only had two racks of the big boys, but my hope was for four racks. I substituted two additional baby-backs.

So here we go dear reader(s).... I did a paste rub... almost jerk-like... let that shit sit in for about a half hour... then finished them all off with another dose of a total dry rub. With the up and coming transport to Leo's tomorrow...I wrapped the ever-livin' shit outta them pork fuckers in the hopes that the jerk/rub will meld nicely. The smell seems pretty good for a jerk/rub... nothing overbearing, and if nothing else, the aromatic aura is one of a only slight sweetness, but more woodsy and primal. So I'm feelin' good about it.

The recipes some (one) of you may wonder? Ahhh... That would be the property of Mr. Nick himself. So sorry.

So here's my "Oh-Shit" all wrapped up and ready for transport in the morning!

Obama Get Out

Obama Get Out

You don’t have a clue
And you’re killing us all.
You take all our money
With no plan in stall.
You’re deranged in thinking your plans are anew,
They’ve been played out before
And all gone askew.
You’ve been nothing by hype
Since before day one.
Can’t you hear America sing
Get out da’ West Wing?!

Unlike Rob Ross painting happy little trees
He’ll draw on your brain with a rusty nail.
Implant visions that’ll make you wail.
You won’t see shit though
Until it’s too late.
Don’t get used to no fine dining
On that dinner plate.
You’re kids ‘ll be whining.
No more to sing.
Till you get that fucker
Out da’ West Wing!

You socialist pig
Wallowing in the mud of the left,
I got a small business, baby,
But you taxed it to death.
Once had a house
Nothing big, but clean.
Nothing like yours
Nor with your fantastic dreams.
I had a small business, baby.
I once had a house.
You stomped it to death.
But you’re akin to that, baby.
Bring your ass into the ring.
Knock you the fuck out
Of The People’s West Wing!

The Classics (?) Hey Buddy! Got A Cigarette?

So I got home this evening and got in the mood to possibly write something. Went into my files of stuff and got to reading some older stuff. Some might have been published on an older blog in the past. I don't remember anymore what was or wasn't.

Some that I thought of revisiting for publication were pretty... frightening? Good shit though (to my twisted ass anyway). Anyway, I found this one and thought I'd occasionally do a revisited classic. This is a strange piece to have been authored by "DarkGarden;" where usually works such as this were penned by "Mr. Nick."

So, for your poetic enjoyment, I present:


Hey Buddy! Got a Cigarette?

Met the lonely man,
Scarred from chest to his cock.
So many nameless operations.
Body a battlefield.

They cut him over and over,
Each time take more and more.
Take some gut,
Take some disease,
And each time lose a little more
Of what that person was.
Little more of that supporting
Soul slips away.

Like a gas under pressure.
Hissing leak.
Contents escape into space.
He was proud once.
He was mighty once.
Children sang and played about him.
Weathered and quickly aging.
A little more of
That soul slips away.

Paranoid and bent.
Wanting someone to understand.
Wanting someone to listen.
His every step, now, is labored;
Where once it bounced lightly.

Begging for cigarettes
Smoked in stained and colorless shorts.
Tell him not to smoke inside.
A little more of
That soul slips away.

Trying to remain tough
Trying to save face.
Picked on.
Trodden on.
Sipping on an old coffee
From a Styrofoam cup.
And every moment
Trying to forget the man he was.
Another veteran from some forgotten war,
A proud father of four.
But no one cares now, brother.
Things move fast now,
And we have no time for past.
A little more of
That soul slips away.

I saw them carry his body away.
Then I looked across the street where
Someone carried some trash to the curb.
I gazed at both scenes as one.
They looked the same.

They laid him out cheaply,
Just down the street.
I walked inside.
I don’t know why.
Several dusty people roamed about.
I searched around a bit for an answer.
There was none.
There was silence.
I walked back home,
A little more bent and a little slower.
A little more of
My soul slipping away.



-Dark Garden