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Folky Jokes and Stories
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Subject: RE: Folky Jokes and Stories From: Frank in the swamps Date: 26 Feb 99 - 04:51 PM When Palatka Pete was just a little fella, his momma used to send him to the spring with a pail to fetch water. Now one day, there was a big ol' bull gator lying down in the spring, and Pete being just a little fella got scared and ran back home. "Momma, Momma" he cried, "I caint git no water cuz there's a big ol' gator down in the spring". "Oh hush now" his mother told him, "that gator's just as scared of you as you are of him". "Well momma, if that gator's just as scared as I am, then that water aint fit to drink!". Frank i.t.s. |
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Subject: RE: Folky Jokes and Stories From: catspaw49 Date: 26 Feb 99 - 04:16 PM Yeah...another of my Dad's favorites as well. I don't remember all the verses, but I do remember the third line of the chorus changing everytime too, like...
"How in the Hell can the Old Folks tell" Ought to try to put this "classic" all together! catspaw |
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Subject: RE: Folky Jokes and Stories From: Allan C. Date: 26 Feb 99 - 03:50 PM My dad could not sit through a single rainy day without singing: 'twas a dark and stormy night And the billy goat was blind He backed into a barbwire fence And scratched his ...nevermind. Oh it ain't gonna rain no more, no more. It ain't gonna rain no more. How the heck 'm I gonna wash my neck If it ain't gonna rain no more? ________ I'm kinda surprised that I didn't find this in the DB. |
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Subject: RE: Folky Jokes and Stories From: Bert Date: 26 Feb 99 - 03:50 PM Talking of ice, We have a friend who married this guy from Tennessee and moved out to Southern Tennessee with him. Well what with all the heat and humidity down there this girl, who was from Colorado, just broke down and cried. While she was still very tearful her new landlord dropped by to see how she was getting on. So she poured out all her troubles -- 'If God had meant us to breathe water he would have given us gills. Boo Hoo! Even the ice is warm. Boo Hoo Hoo!' -- meaning of course that it melts quicker. The very next day a service man arrived to fix her freezer. Bert. |
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Subject: RE: Folky Jokes and Stories From: catspaw49 Date: 26 Feb 99 - 03:36 PM Allan, that reminds me of many of my Dad's whacked out sayings. Certain things just cracked him up while driving everyone else nuts. I don't remember it ever raining without him asking, "Do you think the rain will hurt the rhubarb?" (Not if it's in cans). or...It's colder in the country than it is in the winter. I still have no idea what that means but I like to plague my kids with it. He knew precisely ONE poem that your ice thing reminded me of:
T'was midnight on the ocean
T'was a summer's day that winter
When the organ peeled potatoes, catspaw |
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Subject: RE: Folky Jokes and Stories From: Allan C. Date: 26 Feb 99 - 03:07 PM Departing somewhat from the "food forum", I thought I would submit this quickie of a folky joke: It was so cold this morning that I set a pan of boiling water out on the porch and it froze so fast that the ice was still warm! |
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Subject: RE: Folky Jokes and Stories From: Bert Date: 26 Feb 99 - 10:53 AM Margarita (another name for a daisy.)--I thought it was another name for a drink actually. WRITE THEM DOWN, definately, SOON. I am tossing around some ideas about a 'Mudcat for Kids' forum. One of the ideas is to have a story page. So if you have any stories suitable for kids let me (or Max) know. Bert. |
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Subject: RE: Folky Jokes and Stories From: Margo Date: 26 Feb 99 - 10:19 AM Very good Bert! Your reply is a hoot. Good thing there's no smell. I have lots and lots of stories from the many and varied "careers" I have persued, some of which are farming, photography, restauranteur, and mother of two highly challenging autistic children. (A lot of anecdotal stories about the kids.) Maybe I should write them down What do you say? Margarita (another name for a daisy....as in fresh as a..) |
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Subject: RE: Folky Jokes and Stories From: Bert Date: 26 Feb 99 - 09:10 AM Margarita, Your judo teacher should have taken the hint from your voice teacher and told you to get a garbage can and 'hoot high and low until you hit a resonant spot' Bert. |
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Subject: RE: Folky Jokes and Stories From: Banjer Date: 26 Feb 99 - 06:58 AM If anyone would ask what has all this to do with music, please keep in mind that many varieties of beans are known as the "Musical fruit" |
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Subject: RE: Folky Jokes and Stories From: Banjer Date: 26 Feb 99 - 06:56 AM Margarita, I sit here trying to type this still chuckling with tears still rolling!! I think we have all had such an experience at one time or another. One year, while Christmas shopping with the wife, we went to a local department store. She had quite a supply of very potent SBD's that evening. While looking for a certain gift for a family member we got seperated. I went to find her in the next aisle, she was not there. As I walked a few aisles further in my search I got hit with a very distinctive smell! I knew if I just followed my nose I would eventually find the source...And sure enough, four aisles over I found her! |
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Subject: RE: Folky Jokes and Stories From: Margo Date: 26 Feb 99 - 06:01 AM It's funny you should mention "No smell" in regards to the bagpipe. I just saw an article in the Wall Street Journal about bagpipes. I didn't know that the bag is traditionally made of sheep skin. Apparantly they can be quite smelly.......... Which reminds me of the day that I ought to have stayed home instead of going to my Judo class. At the time, I owned a small Cafe in southern Oregon. I was the owner, cook, waitress, dishwasher, and anything else that needed to be done person. It was a consuming job, and I was pretty well exhausted by the time I closed the doors. My dinner would generally consist of whatever I could quickly grab in the restaurant. Unfortuneately, that's not very healthy. I got away from cooking good food for myself and became run down. The doctor, after interviewing me, said that my body had become a cesspool of bad things and that I needed to change my diet, which I did right away. Have you ever suddenly began eating a high fiber diet after not having done so? It has a definate effect on the digestive system. Lots of gas. You can see where this is going. I really liked my Judo class. The instructor was one of those gentle giants. His grand stature and buzz cut might initially give the impression of a tough guy, but not so. I came to class as usual, and as we gathered and stepped on the mat, I had my first clue that I ought to leave. Part of the ritual of Judo is bowing. You bow before stepping onto the mat, you bow to your partner before you attempt to send him flying through the air. I bowed at the edge of the mat and whoops! A humdinger of air pollutant escaped from my shocked intestinal system. I figured I'd wait a minute there at the edge of the mat. But you know how it is. When you walk, the vacuum sucks the air in behind you and the putrescent air follows. With the exertion of the excerises and hitting the mat with an odiferous splat I managed to create quite a cloud of undesireable atmosphere. Finally, waiting in line and standing next to my teacher, my secret got out. Yes friends, the old childhood acronym of SBD's was applicable that day. (SBD=silent, but deadly) My teacher wrinkled his nose and turned to me saying, "It smells like a sewer pipe broke!" Now at this point, you would think that no self respecting person would admit to being reaponsible for perfuming the air in such a manner. But not Margo, no. I sheepishly admitted that I had changed my diet......I think his embarassment was at or above my level. Maybe I wanted to share that too! (I'm not really such a stinker) Margarita |
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Subject: RE: Folky Jokes and Stories From: Sandy Paton Date: 26 Feb 99 - 12:30 AM Read: tattoo, please. I'd never make it as a proofreader. |
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Subject: RE: Folky Jokes and Stories From: Sandy Paton Date: 26 Feb 99 - 12:26 AM Funny you should mention Atlanta, Catspaw. When Caroline and I were on our way back to Atlanta from the "grits" visit to Lumpkin, we were with a gentle and studious young sociologist from Macon. He was working with a group of Amish folk somewhere in mid-state. He thoughtfully arranged for us to visit with them on a Wednesday evening when they would be having a hymn-sing in one of their homes. We were transported into an earlier century that night. Throughout the house, in every room on the lower floor, benches had been placed in rows. People arrived, all dressed in their dark colored, old-style garments, greeted us warmly, and soon every seat in the house was filled and the singing began. Someone would start a hymn, unaccompanied, and all would immediately join in, singing from memory, most of them, although the gentleman next to me had a hymnbook that he would open quickly, find the right page, and hand to me. The hymns were all sung in German, so I did little more than hum along, although my wife, linguist that she is, followed the German quite well. It was a magic evening, a musical and social experience never to be forgotten. Late that night we drove into Atlanta, and looked for an all-night diner. Found one, sat down in a booth in the back, still in a quiet reverie, each re-living the somber beauty of the earlier part of the evening. Suddenly, a blowsy, bee-hive hair-do'd, dishwater-blond waitress flounced back to our booth, chewing loudly on her bubblegum, and began to swipe at the table-top with a dirty wet rag. On her arm was a large and lurid tatoo. "What'll ya have?" We ordered. She left. Our friend looked up and softly observed, "I think I'm suffering from culture shock." And so were we. Sandy |
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Subject: RE: Folky Jokes and Stories From: catspaw49 Date: 25 Feb 99 - 10:59 PM Rick...I'm not real bright but I could see that if I had a gun and you had a gun, and you were supposed to kill me, then I was going to do my best to kill you first. I knew even at that age that it would be hard to live with so it seemed that I was owed a good reason to go do it. Nobody ever seemed to have one. And you're right, the effect of music can never be diminished. I've said it before, but a lot of us believed you could end war and racism and poverty if we just sang loud enough...we just didn't sing long enough. And now to FOOD...Sandy had me packin' for a quick trip to Missouri. I hear it's finally closed, but "Aunt Fannie's Cabin" in Atlanta was one helluva' place. Uneven old floors and old tables with saucers under the legs......little kids with placards over their shoulders would come around and say, "Welcome to Aunt Fanny's, Don't leave hungry." Then they'd stand there and you read the menu...true cooked southern veggies, real potatoes, fresh fried in lard, and the best chicken you ever ate!!! None of that wimpy, healthful road kill stuff. Big pieces, seasoned perfectly, and fried to perfection. Enough grease to lube a Buick but it tasted great. And if you wanted catfish, there was a fish camp outside Charlotte a friend took me to one night. I thought I'd had great catfish, but this place was at a new level!!! Honest to God, the company home office asked once what I was doing in Charlotte so often! And New Orleans...I spent 3 months there re-organizing our office and sales staff. Always was tempted to take 5 grand, stay at the Royal Orleans and eat til the money ran out. I guess this is the "cafe" part of Mudcat. I'll send a burgoo (multiple meat stew, highly spiced) recipe and another for Kentucky Hot Brown. A good by-pass is going for about 75 grand, but geez, it's not like you eat this stuff everyday. catspaw |
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Subject: RE: Folky Jokes and Stories From: Sandy Paton Date: 25 Feb 99 - 06:30 PM Since this has turned into a discussion of southern folk cuisine, let me ask: Have any of you visited Lambert's Restaurant in Sykeston, Missouri? That's just across the river from Cairo, Illinois, and it's the "Home of the Throwed Rolls." They serve a chicken fried steak that hangs over the edges of a very large plate, smothered in that glorious artery-clogging sausage gravy, mashed potatoes, lots of southern style vegetables (including green beans done properly with lots of salt pork and cooked damn near to death). Then they come around with a rolling tray of about half-dozen additional southern vegetables and, here's the clincher, another rolling tray full of giant, golden brown rolls. "Want a roll?" hollers the pusher. "Sure," answers the unsuspecting diner, and here it comes! Tossed at him from across the room. Miss the catch and another is immediately on its way toward you. When the place is busy, which is almost always, there are rolls are flying all over the place. Scuttlebutt says the owner was once the local high-school basketball coach and used a similar technique to keep his young athletes on their toes. True or not, it's a great place to build up your cholesterol level! Sandy |
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Subject: RE: Folky Jokes and Stories From: rick fielding Date: 25 Feb 99 - 03:39 PM Whooee! Going to jail for one's beliefs is making a Hell of a statement! It certainly is the ultimate form of patriotism, and gives me a chill even to think about it. Sadly, that brave, I could never be, although I guess you never know what you'll do until you're in that situation. Growing up in Montreal and Toronto I don't remember EVER having to make a decision of even close to that magnitude. I think however, many of the songs from that period gave strength to a lot of young people, and perhaps helped them to make the hardest decisions of their lives. Even those who supported the war would have gotten musical support from the country songs of the day. So I guess music will always have the power to influence us one way or another. I know all about pepper Jelly (we're not totally deprived up here) but dare I even ask about Kentuckey Burgoo? There's no groundhog in it is there? |
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Subject: RE: Folky Jokes and Stories From: catspaw49 Date: 25 Feb 99 - 12:37 PM Well damn Rick...sounds as though you need a CARE package. Or if you're down this way, we'd be more than happy to "feed you up" a bit. Funny, but during that same period I considered moving to Canada...but changed my mind as that made no obvious statement. The CO route was another non-statement too, so I was given board and accomodations by my Uncle Sam where I was able to improve my guitar playing at the expense of the United States Government. How about really great ribs? Had any really fine Jambalaya? Sweet potato pie?--you'll never eat pumpkin again! Maybe a big pot of Kentucky Burgoo--serious eatin' there. Or a bottle of homemade sweet pepper jelly...tastes funny as you're eating it, but has the greatest aftertaste...you gotta' have more..and more..and more. But as we talked about in another thread, some of the critters need to be left in the woods. catspaw |
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Subject: RE: Folky Jokes and Stories From: Rick Fielding Date: 25 Feb 99 - 12:07 PM Sandy, did you see the Jack Nicholson film "Five Easy Pieces"? It sounds like your "grits" adventure could be straight out of it. Restaurant Food in Canada (and I normally would never be this general)SUCKS! The first time I visited Nashville I went to a buffet restaurant called "Morrison's" and I truly thought I'd died and gone to heaven. I generally am not a veggie person, but lord lord those stewed tomatoes, black-eyed peas, yams, collard greens, Oh my God!! AND they had SIDE ORDERS of macaroni and cheese!! baked beans, and chili. And the fried catfish! Holy Cow, I'm salivating right now! And generous portions...restaurants in Canada are SOOO stingy! Years ago, I thought seriously about moving to either the U.S. or Britain, because My love for folk music would have been more requited outside of Canada (Toronto at least) Several visits to England convinced me that I was too much of a wimp to contend with the heating, phone service, plumbing, and high prices for gas and a vehicle, (I know much of that has changed, since then) but I love food, and British cuisine just didn't do it for me. When I would travel through the States, I always found folks to be approachable, and affable. (even in NYC!) I was concerned about the perception of racism in the south and the spectre of Vietnam.(I would have been close enough to draft age to worry) Other than that, the south was where I felt the most at home at any time in my life. The music, the food, and the general friendliness of the people. Over the years I've come to realise that bigotry dwells in some "people", not in some "areas". I've encountered as many narrow minds in Toronto as I would anywhere else in the world, often just differently disguised and more closeted. Wherever I've gone the "folk music community" has been a pretty damn good lot of people. I still have regrets about not moving south in my 20s, except by now I'd weigh 300 pounds instead of a svelte 200. |
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Subject: RE: Folky Jokes and Stories From: Banjer Date: 25 Feb 99 - 06:26 AM It appears us banjo folks have been hit with a broadside!! I'll have to dig out my list of jokes and stories...We often tell and laugh at stories at our own expense..."When I grow up I wanna be a banjo player" says little Johnny. "I'm sorry dear," says his mother, "you'll have to make up your mind. You can't have both--you can either grow up or be a banjo player.... Bagpipes, when properly played are beautiful sounding instruments, I would venture to say that one out of six qualifies. The other five are often the butt of many jokes, such as the advice given a piper at one of our recent Civil War reenactments. He was told that stabbing it with a knife would kill it quicker than trying to squeeze it to death. Also he was asked several times to play something he knew. One passerby who heard the squealing allowed that if HE was going to blow a pig he certainly would not do it in public! Why do banjo players hang miniature banjos from their rear view mirrors? So they can park in the handicapped spots! |
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Subject: RE: Folky Jokes and Stories From: Steve Parkes Date: 25 Feb 99 - 03:32 AM My little brother reckons that "perfect pitch" is the ability to throw a banjo into a dutbin with out hitting the sides; a guitar is better than a banjo 'cos it burns longer; what's the difference between Manchester United and a banjo player? Man U have Gig(g)s (sorry, a UK socer joke there). But my bro plays the saxophone. Steve |
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Subject: RE: Folky Jokes and Stories From: catspaw49 Date: 25 Feb 99 - 03:26 AM OH YEAH...Been to Atlanta lately? There is a very popular chain called the "Blackeyed Pea" that specializes in serving lots of different veggies. Everybody said we needed to go there when we were in town last summer. So off we go for a little healthy eating. Now as I recall Sandy, you got one of these bypass things too and you probably at least try to keep the fats and cholesterol down a bit. Well don't go to the "Blackeyed Pea." Go to your favorite chophouse and order up a big rare rib steak, lots of real butter and sour cream for the potato, copious quantities of bleu cheese dressing and 2 large pieces of New York style cheesecake...you'll be better off. At the Pea, the salt pork chunks outsized and outnumbered the pintos, the greens were greasy and had cooked for at least 11 months...but the kicker was the corn. Never had anything like it...Breaded,Deep Fried,Corn on the Cob...and I don't want no more of it either. catspaw |
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Subject: RE: Folky Jokes and Stories From: catspaw49 Date: 25 Feb 99 - 02:58 AM Oh Sandy...let's not get into Southern cooking. My Georgian wife loves to go to Waffle House simply because they have grits!!! I mean I like 'em...in a bowl with butter, milk and sugar, just like cream of wheat. This is a major nono with grits...salt,pepper,runny egg equals a slimy ass mess to me. I get a real charge out of reading Southern Living magazine...like all southern food is so luxurious!!! Now in my friends homes, I'd find the ongoing pot of pinto beans, turnip greens, green beans and jowl...and is there any true southerner that will ever say, "This food is overcooked." But make no mistake, when I first went south in college, I realized how much I loved it and tried never to be a damn yankee (moves there and stays). Most northerners want to change the south...I wanted it to change me, and it did. Did you all ever run across spoon bread in your travels? That's kinda' like congealed grits. catspaw |
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Subject: RE: Folky Jokes and Stories From: Sandy Paton Date: 25 Feb 99 - 02:25 AM I've always heard it said about bagpipers, and attributed to Oscar Wilde. Or was it Oscar who observed, upon hearing a bagpipe: "Thank God there's no odor!" Anyway, Rick, I wanted to offer a story to the thread you started here. Perhaps this has enough "folk" content to be of interest. Caroline and I were singing at a small folk festival in Lumpkin, Georgia, where, incidentally, we heard some great shape-note singing from members of a local African-American church. It was quite late in the evening when the program wrapped up, and I was hungry, so we went to the only restaurant in town that was open at that hour, a somewhat rustic, far from fancy, diner sort of place. I decided to order scrambled eggs and toast, just to get my cholesterol level back up to where it belonged. The waitress, a young and very pleasant blond, as I recall, said that she was sorry, but scrambled eggs were not available. Looking at the menu, I observed, "You have a fried egg sandwich on your menu, right?" Yes, she agreed, that was available. "Well," says I, brilliantly, "if you can make a fried egg sandwich, you have the eggs which you could scramble, and the bread from which you could make the toast, right?" "Yes," she smiled, being very patient with this ignorant damyankee, "but I can't serve you scrambled eggs, sir, 'cause we ain't got no grits." Honest to God. True story. Caroline will verify it. Sandy
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Subject: RE: Folky Jokes and Stories From: catspaw49 Date: 25 Feb 99 - 02:10 AM Well, I was kinda' hopin' to get Dobros included. What can I say? I took a shot!!!
Probably means I can't substitute on "Perfect Pitch" Of course it wouldn't work on Accordion things at all. I've always thought that a paraphrase of a Gen. U.S.Grant line was appropos of accordion players: They only know 2 songs...One is "Lady of Spain" and the other...isn't !!! catspaw |
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Subject: RE: Folky Jokes and Stories From: Rick Fielding Date: 25 Feb 99 - 01:46 AM Now cut that out, Paw. You know as well as I, that it's accordians and banjos that gentlemen choose not to play! |
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Subject: RE: Folky Jokes and Stories From: catspaw49 Date: 24 Feb 99 - 11:47 PM Hey...Dobro Dick sounds like one helluva' guy, a true gentleman. A true gentleman is, of course, someone who can play a Dobro...and doesn't. catspaw |
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Subject: RE: Folky Jokes and Stories From: Les B Date: 24 Feb 99 - 10:13 PM Dobro Dick, an amazing musician originally from the East Coast -- but who spends much of his life in the Paradise Valley near Livingston, Montana, spun this yarn around a campfire on the Dearborn River several years ago. He may also have put it in a book of short stories he was purportedly writing, but I have not seen it published. It may be apocryphal, it may be true. With Dick you never know. Dick says that a few years back he picked up a ravishing Crow woman in one of the divey bars on Billings' southside. Both of them having a few drinks under their belts, they migrated to a cheap hotel room nearby. Dick was on one side of the room, stripped to his underwear, and she was getting in the same state on the other side when an enraged male voice started bellowing her name at the door. Before Dick could move, she had opened the door and there stood one big, mad, mean, dude. He pulled a knife, and Dick, not wishing to find out what for, grabbed the one thing he felt he couldn't leave without -- a nice indian style leather jacket with fringe and beadwork he had bought when he first moved to Montana -- and dove out the window of the hotel! Luckily, he was only on the first half-floor, about twelve feet up from the alley, and he lit on a pile of trash, hurting only his feelings. But there he was, at 3:00 am in the morning, with only his underwear and a leather jacket, and it was cold. Bundling up in the jacket, he started padding barefoot down the alley, trying to figure out what to do. His billfold with all his money was back with his pants in the room, so he couldn't just find another hotel. As Dick got to the end of the alley, he met an old indian man who was tottering along, maybe from age, maybe from alcohol. The old man looked at Dick's bare legs, then took a long look at the beaded leather jacket, and said "Good jacket, you come with me." Not having many choices, and getting colder by the minute, Dick decided to follow. Shortly they ended up in a dingy apartment, which seemed to be home to the old man. The old man offered him a beer, and ultimately Dick curled up on the floor with the jacket over him, trying to sleep off the booze and the cold. Later, during what was left of the night, Dick heard the old man chanting and shuffling around him, like he was performing a ritual. In the morning, when Dick woke up, the old man was gone. But around Dick on the floor was a circle of odd little items, poptop tabs from beer cans, and other effluvia that might be fetishes of some sort. Dick had the feeling it all had something to do with the beaded jacket and what it might have meant to the old man. For some unknown reason, Dick reached out and picked up one of the fetishes, a completely flattened, fluorescent yellow tennis ball. Not knowing why, he stuck it in the pocket of the jacket and made his exit. The jacket being long enough that he wasn't legally nude, Dick skittered through the streets back to the desk of the cheap hotel he had exited so quickly the night before. He was able to recover his boots, pants, and billfold, minus most of his cash, and considered it a lesson learned. A few months later, Dick returned to New York city because of family matters. And, as those things go, after a couple of months he began to experience friction with his family, grow bored with the big city, and wish that he was back in Montana. Becoming more and more homesick for his adopted state, one night he pulled out the beaded leather jacket, which he hadn't worn for a long time, and put it on. It wasn't the kind of clothing one normally wore in the city, but he was just in that kind of a mood. Feeling better with it on, he decided to go out for a drink. Dick hadn't been sitting long at the bar when a strikingly good looking woman approached him and told him how much she liked his unusual jacket. They chatted for a few minutes and Dick began to think he might get lucky. But then one of life's embarassing little moments got in the way. She had pulled out a cigarette and turned to Dick with that "light up my life" look in her eyes. Dick, eager to impress, automatically reached in his jacket for his lighter. What he pulled out, instead, was the flattened, garish yellow tennis ball, which by this time also smelled like stale rubber. When Dick wafted it under her nose, her eyes narrowed, she recoiled slightly, gave him an odd look and quickly moved away down the bar. Dick sat there feeling foolish, looking at the ball in his hand. He remembered where it came from, and wondered why he had felt compelled to pick it up. Meanwhile, the woman had struck up a conversation with another man down the bar, avoiding even looking Dick's way. Not more than a minute later, a gent built like a professional wrestler came through the door, spotted the woman, walked directly over to the man she was chatting with, grabbed him by the hair and with a powerful shove cracked his head on the bar counter, immediately knocking him out and causing a great deal of blood to spurt. The big guy grabbed the woman by the arm and dragged her to the door, calling her a choice selection of names, "cheating bitch" being the most kind. Dick sat and stared at the flat, yellow tennis ball in his hand. He now had a pretty good idea why it was there. He put it back in the pocket of the beaded leather jacket and caught the next flight to Montana.
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Subject: RE: Folky Jokes and Stories From: catspaw49 Date: 24 Feb 99 - 12:33 PM Since music was so intrinsically related to those days, almost anytime I think of my late teens and early 20's, a song(s) is tied to it. About 10 Berea students were working in an associate VISTA program tied to the Council of Southern Mountains. They were having a meeting at Fontana Dam and 6 of us went down. We arrived at about midnight, far too late to check in and decided we'd drive to Bryson City...I have no idea why. Arriving in Bryson City, nothing was open but a small diner where we were looked upon with some skepticism...but served. Having even more time on our hands, we drove up the other side of the mountain to Clingman's Dome. We parked in the empty lot at about 3 AM and listened to the springmelt run off the rocks all around us. We of course solved the problems of the world that night and about 4:30 AM, Andy and I got out the guitars and we all sang. We sang Woody, we sang Dylan, but when we picked a few Carter tunes and Broadsides, it struck me for the first time that not only did it sound wonderful out there, but this was where the music came from...in that fog cloaked valley, across that far ridge...it lived here. The isolation of the mountains had given a different flavor to the Scots-Irish roots of the original tunes and for me it was something special...both the music and the realization. After awhile we sat in silence and let the spring morning provide the music for us. Years passed, we went in different directions, and like in "Bob Dylan's Dream"......"each one of them, I have never seen again." Maybe you can only have those times when the world is new and you know how to fix it. We certainly thought so. But maybe you're only given a few moments in your life when things are clear and revealed...and pure. Sorry Rick, this was supposed to be a joke thread and maybe if I were Arlo I could have done that a little better. Or maybe I need to stick to crude lyrics to show tunes. Ahwell........... catspaw |
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Subject: RE: Folky Jokes and Stories From: Paul Date: 24 Feb 99 - 11:07 AM I've always loved these stories too, Rick. Unfortunately, I'm also plagued by a terrible memory, so I tend to tell my own stories, wherever someone will listen. There's usually booze involved, but I'll make an exception. A true story: Back in the year 1987, my best buddy Jake and I were housesitting for his parents while they were on holiday. We were both 17 years old at the time and mighty full of young male stupidity. On Saturday night, there was a terrible storm, knocking out all of the power in Odessa (extremely small southern Ontario village), so we decided to play with a Ouija board. Now, neither one of us believed in these things, but we thought it could be fun. We put our hands on the planchet and "concentrated" for one full minute. It had been decided ahead of time that I, being the less unintelligent (note the double negative) of the two, would do the talking. I said, "Is there a spirit present?" because that's what you're supposed to say (everyone knows that). The planchet began to move, one would assume toward the Yes, since it IS moving. But instead it went to the E. Then it kept moving, and spelling a whole word for us: E....V....I.....L. Now, being young and impressionable and seeing the need to continue asking questions in the appropriate lingo, I said, "Will this evil befall us?" Ouija: Yes. I asked a long series of questions over the next 45 minutes trying to narrow down precisely what evil would "befall" us, when, where, and by whom. The final results: On November 16/1991 at 11:30 pm, Jake and I were going to be murdered, outdoors, by a crazy man, who wouldn't use any weapons; our bodies would never be found. The final question I asked was, "How will this crazy man murder us?" The planchet moved: H....O....W....L. As the planchet was just coming to rest on the L, all of the lights in the house came on, and so did Jake's Dad's Volunteer Fireman radio, with a huge blast of static. We jumped from our chairs, knocking over the table and sending the board flying. Being young and impressionable and scared "witless" we didn't resume our Ouija session. Skip ahead to November 16/1991. It is 10:45 pm. Jake still lives with his parents in Odessa; I'm going to school in Peterborough, 2 hours away. My roommate and I are getting ready to do the half-hour walk across town to the university radio station to do our weekly show. I quickly phone Jake to wish him luck; he curses me for reminding him that tonight's the night. My roommate (we'll call him Andrew, since that's his name) and I head out into the night, with him being none the wiser that he could be walking to his death. I walk with my hands in my pocket, one hand holding my camping knife, ready for action. The walk is uneventful, and we arrive at the station unscathed. Our show is about to start at 11:30. Andrew is in the booth talking to the guy who does the previous show; I'm out in the hallway, thinking that maybe nothing will happen. Suddenly, at approximately 11:29, a large wide-eyed bald man in a badly fitting peacoat begins banging madly at the window screaming, "Let me in!" Andrew goes to the door. I've lost my voice; all I can manage is a squeak of "no" as the door opens. The madman steps inside, looks across the room and says, "Thank God! There's my Physics book." |
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Subject: RE: Folky Jokes and Stories From: Jon W. Date: 24 Feb 99 - 10:52 AM Utah Phillips, and of course Arlo Guthrie |
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Subject: RE: Folky Jokes and Stories From: Ritchie Date: 24 Feb 99 - 10:43 AM I've heard some good ones over the years from the likes of Mike Harding & Tony Capstick but my favorite is 'the very talented' Vin Garbitt and someone, who I'm looking forward to hearing very soon (as I've just ordered his new CD) Can tell a 'canny tale' albeit as yet I've only 'heard' him in print at the Mudcat. I like the personal touch of a bit of banter before or after a song and if it's humorous then so much the better.
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Subject: RE: Folky Jokes and Stories From: AndyG Date: 24 Feb 99 - 06:54 AM Unfortunately, much as I love story-tellers I don't remember the stories too well, but; Someone to look out for if you want tall tales is Jim Eldon from the Yorkshire coast, he tells some good stories from the trawlermen, and not a few family anecdotes as well. Many are on his recordings.
AndyG |
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Subject: Folky Jokes and Stories From: Rick Fielding Date: 23 Feb 99 - 06:45 PM Click for the 'PermaThread™: List of all joke threads'I absolutely love (to hear and retell) musician jokes and stories and have been privileged to know some of the great storytellers like Tam Kearney and Archie Fisher. (hmmm they're both Scots, should that tell me something?) Problem is I have a wonky memory and often can remember how hard I laughed at something but can't recall how the story started. Thought I might ask if any mudcatters would share a favourite joke or anecdote. |
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