What is it about men in kilts?

Wednesday, we trekked to the city of Worcester, and Mechanics Hall for a concert by the Band of the Irish Guards and the Pipes, Drums and Highland Dancers of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlands, 5th Battalion The Royal Regiment of Scotland.

That was a mouthful, or maybe a fingerful.

Great concert.  In all of our  years in Boston, we had never been to Mechanics Hall, a beautiful concert space with great acoustics and chairs that didn't paralyze your butt after an hour.  There's something about a military band and pipes and drums that calls up a latent atavism.  There's something about men in kilts and swirling bagpipes and drums and all the noise and testosterone.  I  couldn't have liked it more.

Pre-concert, we had an early (somewhat lonely) dinner on Shrewsbury St. at Tribeca.  Wonderful food, nice atmosphere.   Lovely, pampered feeling.   Managed to get in and out of Worcester with getting lost. . . well, maybe a little.

Nothing beats punching "home" into the GPS, and no matter where you are, it will direct you, and if you screw up, the lady will very patiently recalculate and get you on your way again.  She never screams, "you pathetic idiots!"  or some such vituperation.   The worst is "make a U turn at the first opportunity."   GPS is right up there with sliced bread and good anesthesia.

In some respects, I am of the Old School, whatever that means, probably that I partake of a big of fogeydom.  I just love to hear the National Anthem played as a March or a snappy tune and not as a (insert expletive here) dirge, or worse, as a "treatment" which frequently happens at sporting events, where "home of the brave" is droned and drawled until you just know it's home of the wuss and the wimp.  Don't like that.    A springly pace, if you please.

Haven't been blogging much, because I'm rewriting a book and doing lots of first-of-year things like cleaning out files.  Busy, too, somehow.

One of the best things in the concert was when they played the Army, Navy, Airforce, and Marine songs, and veterans from the various services stood up when their song was played.    Lots of applause.

 One last rant.  I can't believe anyone would negotiate with people who throw acid in school girl's faces.  In my book, never, never, never.  Never.  Scum of the earth.

The Highland flings and Scottish dances (sword dance) were great.  Agile young men with strong legs and expressionless faces.

Now I have to finish my revisions.  Then print the manuscript and take a look.  I've cut over 3000 words, and previously cut 5,000 words.  Trying to get under 100,000 but it won't happen.  Big meaty book with lots of characters, sub-plots, craziness and romance.  Not your little chicken-shit 70,000 twee mystery.  Nope.  The only way I could write so small is to attempt a novela.   Onward.

Check out Mechanics Hall


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Island in the Stream

Yesterday we left on a small ferry for a tour of the Boston Harbor Islands. The first adventure was finding the ferry dock, as the Google directions were well, basically wrong, or obscure. I don't know. Three adults couldn't figure it out.

We found the place, no sign, and got on board a tiny ferry which took us to Grape, Bumpkin, Hull, and finally Georges Island, where we found a huge old civil war fort, picnic tables, seagulls, and a pleasant place to while away the afternoon.

Took our lunch and beverages and even a table cloth but no booze.

Enjoyed the harbor views, the colorful markings of where the lobster traps were set, the buoys, and the whole nautical ambiance.

Arrived home via the GPS, which we should have programmed to take us there, but we have found the programming sometimes takes longer than getting there. Anyway, GSP took us thru the back roads of Quincy and to a spot where we could navigate from. Quincy is one of the worst towns ever to find your way around in, and they don't believe in a lot of street signs and certainly do like to keep the local tourist bamboozled. I wouldn't even want to think of the non-local tourist. It would be ugly.

Today we're seeing a Pawsox game and the fireworks afterward. Dinner at the ball park. Tomorrow we're doing the tacos we didn't cook last night. So tired we treked to the 99 and had a bang up meal of prime rib and barbequed ribs and deep fried asparagus, caesar salad, hey, we were hungry as well as pooped.

Tonight there will be 500,000 people at the Hatch shell and the fireworks, and we have decided this is just a bit much. Quite a bit much. And one can't line up on the Longfellow Bridge this year, always a good viewing spot.

I hope the music is better than past years. Sometimes they get carried away with pop music that isn't very good. I favor John Phillip Sousa on the 4th of July, along with the 1812 overture and patriotic songs. Can't help it. Just an old fashioned grrrrl.

You read it here first.


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