Take A Little Trip

I just wanted to let you all know that most of my blog-related activity this week has been happening over on Writecrastination. If you're interested in the current status of Make or Break, and thoughts and ponderings about the the upcoming "Gold" mystery, stop on by.

Dog-Like

We've all heard the old adage about people looking like their dogs. In my experience, though, it is hardly ever true. Other than a curly black cockapoo I had as a kid, I've never looked like any of my dogs. And other than Cricket, a black cocker spaniel, all the dogs I've had as an adult have been in the white-buff-gold color family.

Whether I look like my dogs or not, they're an essential part of who I am. They allow me to exist in a world that would be far too bleak without them. They keep me in touch with the pure energy of the universe. I ground myself in their joyful presence in the moment, and their lack of concern for trivialities. Don't worry, be happy. Unlike humans, they don't question motives and look for hidden agendas. They don't judge on the basis of appearance or social status. They don't lie awake at night worrying about the next day. They accept and trust in a way people never achieve.

Long ago, I realized that Golden Retrievers are "my breed." They are sunny and smart, and their greatest joy comes from figuring out what you want from them, and giving it to you with a cheerful grin and a merry tail-swish. When a golden adores you, you sure know you're being adored. They're active and inquisitive, gentle and accepting, highly adaptable, and endlessly forgiving.

When I started thinking about that, I realized that - with the exception of smart - the things that make goldens special to me are all pretty much the exact opposite of my nature. Far from the "people are like their dogs" cliche, this seems to be a case of "opposites attract."

Then there's Brody, a Great Pyrenees. Brody is typical of the breed in his temperament and behavior. He's aloof. He's happy to hang out by himself under "his" tree in the yard for hours at a time, watching the world go by. He wants attention when he wants it, and the rest of the time it's "just leave me alone already." He's territorial, and bristles any time a threat (defined as anyone that's not me, Tom, Darwin, or Ozark) comes into sight. He monitors his realm and repels potential invaders. He's willful, stubborn, and can ignore any instructions that don't suit him at that moment. He'd prefer not to get overheated or exert himself in any way.

Apparently, I am a Great Pyrenees. Not a Golden Retriever. Who knew? (Well, Tom probably did. And he's rather golden-ish, so maybe this is "opposites attract" again.)

Great Pyrenees also bark. A lot. At anything that might intrude on their carefully-maintained solitude. I... am a barker. Or a yeller. I yell. A lot. Mostly at Brody, but that is probably beside the point. "Brody, come! Brody! Brooooooody! Brody, down! Off! Leave it! They're allowed to walk by the house. Brody, shut the hell up! Quiet! Brody, get in here! I mean it! NOW!"

This probably makes him really happy. Nobody likes to bark alone.

Endangered Library

Even when I was a kid, I loved libraries. When I spent days with my Aunt Helen, and those times corresponded to the bookmobile stopping in a nearby church parking lot, we always went. I always had books checked out from my school libraries, and I visited the bookmobile when it came by there, too. While my mother did the usual summer activity things such as take us to the pool or park, my favorite outings were to the library in Moundsville.

As I might have mentioned before, I was - and still am - a book nerd. I worked for the Indianapolis-Marion County Public Library from 1989 to 1996, and for the Anoka County Library in 1997-98. Buying books is expensive, and since I read 3-5 books a week, there is no way I could finance (or house) enough books to feed my appetite for fiction without the public library system. I love the 24-hour online access to the library catalog, and the ability to place holds and renew items from home. I need my library.

This is why what is currently happening in Philadelphia has me almost beside myself. Barring some sort of massive emergency funding in the next two weeks, the Free Library of Philadelphia will be closing on October 2. All 54 local, regional and central libraries. The entire library system.

No more books. No more newspapers, magazines, or DVDs. No more free Internet access. No more GED or English Language classes. No more literacy programs. No more computer classes, story times, or after school programs. No more job-search assistance.

Gone. There just isn't any more money.

The first public library system in the country was in Philadelphia. Benjamin Franklin founded it in 1731. And it will cease to exist on October 2 unless they can find a way to secure a whole lot of cash very quickly.

What I can't understand is why there isn't more of an outcry over this. When I started looking for news articles and blogs on the subject, there was surprisingly little. Don't people care? Doesn't anyone see what a cultural and intellectual disaster is about to take place? Is it that residents somehow know that this is all a ploy to put politicians' feet to the fire and force them to find a source of funding, and that there will be an 11th-hour reprieve? I hope so. I hope they know something that isn't being widely reported outside the Philadelphia area. I hope the library continues to exist, providing free resources to the public. I can't imagine not having access to a library, and I'm sure there are plenty of people in Philadelphia who feel the same way.

Whoever you are, wherever you are, please support your own library systems. Enjoy their resources, support their programs, buy their discarded books, donate your own gently-used books, and volunteer if you are able.

If the oldest library system in the nation can face extinction, whose libraries are next?

Not mine. I hope.

(UPDATE: An excellent article on the Philadelphia Weekly website. Take a look.)

Updates From Experts

I should've known. My Zombie Penis Mushrooms (tm) actually are (and you are totally going to think I'm making this up), according to alert commenter Mike, really and truly called Phallus ravenelli. I stand by my ability to identify phalli... though I still suspect zombie involvement, especially in light of the Bloggess's nearly simultaneous discovery.

(Further updates as they become available. Or as people make them up. Though Mike's update is completely legitimate and scientific. Thanks, Mike!)

Zombie (Mushroom) Outbreak?

Okay. Now I'm worried. As I'm sure you noticed, earlier today I posted about the Zombie Penis Mushrooms (tm) growing in my yard. But I just visited my Facebook page and saw a post from The Bloggess. Yes, her posts are often cause for concern - mostly for Tom, because he's afraid she's going to give me ideas, which is a totally valid point, because she is incredibly inspirational in the best insane-but-medicated way - but this time I'm afraid something is really going on in the Fabulous World of Zombie Fungi.

In the interest of public safety and extremely good reasons to buy a gallon of Jack Daniel's and a machete, please go read her post on the Mushroom Boobie she found in her yard. Yes, she took pictures, too. (Because that's what you do when you have a blog and mutant undead fungi on your property. You're welcome.) Only her mushroom is apparently a sign. Mine might be, too, but I strongly suspect that hers is a Zombie Boobie Mushroom.

I'm wondering if her (apparently) female zombies are looking for my (apparently) male zombies. Since she's in Texas, and I'm at the opposite end of I-35 in Minnesota, I'm thinking if you live in Kansas, you should be very, very concerned.

I shall await the opinions of the Zombie Experts before I decide whether or not to dig the gasoline-filled moat.

You Just Never Know When Zombies Will Pop Up

(In advance, either "I'm sorry" or "You're welcome," depending on your opinion of the following strange-even-for-me post.)

Last week, I was fixated on the idea of sharing this with you. Then the weekend rolled around and I lost interest. I seem to be having a hard time maintaining enthusiasm for anything lately. I'm blaming the cosmically lousy summer. It wasn't until July that we had a string of days consistently in the 80s, and they were few and far between. Most of the summer, we've barely been able to achieve 70s, and sometimes not even that. Now, of course, since they're coming to close the pool today, it's beautiful. I was in the pool twice this year. Two times. One plus one. All summer. Gaarrrrggggh.

We've been in this house 13 years, yet every once in a while a plant sprouts in the yard that I've never seen before. When we were preparing the pool area for the season (which feels like about three days ago), I saw a tall, spiky weed that I dubbed "poo-weed." This was because, as I was pulling them so we could spread fresh mulch, I noticed that most of them had... well... dog poo by them. I couldn't say for sure if the plants grew there because of the "organic material," or if the plants somehow made the dogs feel compelled to welcome to the yard in their own special way.

The other newcomers to the yard are an odd type of mushroom. Any time it's dry for a while, followed by a day or two of rain, our mulch does sprout a variety of fungi. When I saw these, though, I knew immediately what they were.

Zombie Penis Mushrooms (tm).

Because, really, what else could they be?

I mentioned them on Facebook, and posted some pictures. I also mentioned it to some other people, and one friend said she had those in her yard, too, and I would be surprised because they "really blow up."

I was momentarily horrified at the thought of exploding zombie bits. Then I realized she probably meant they get all big and umbrella-y on the top like regular mushrooms.

Whew.

After I posted the pictures on Facebook, another friend said that if I dug into the mulch at the base, I would find... well, the roundish objects that you'd expect to find at the bases of such a feature.

I refuse to look. I was having enough trouble trying not to envision zombies lying on their backs under my mulch, thinking happy thoughts.

I raced home from work Friday, ahead of the rain, because I didn't want to risk them all blowing up (or exploding... I was never totally clear on that) before I had recorded them for posterity.

(The one on the right appears to need... a little help. Or a prescription.)

(This is only one patch of them. There must've been a dozen altogether. There's a joke in there about "counting heads," but I'm not going there. Oh, wait... I just did. Oops.)

(No, I did not have anything better to do. Which is terribly, terribly sad.)

While researching what sorts of mushrooms these might be, other than Zombie Penis Mushrooms (tm), I came across - you are not going to believe this - a Zombie Hand Mushroom.

(I think I remember seeing that it was in Malaysia or someplace like that... which is lucky. For you. Because if I had a Zombie Hand Mushroom in my mulch, I would have been perversely compelled to arrange an extraordinarily distasteful tableau with the other mushrooms, take pictures, post them, and offend... pretty much everybody.)

That's it. I'm out of material. Because of the lack of focus thing. Instead, I will invite you to leave a comment with your own Zombie Penis Mushroom (tm) jokes. Or you can think up what drug companies would name a Viagra-like product for zombies.

And people wonder why I haven't been posting as much lately. Now you know.

It Was A Dark And Stormy Night

'Bemember our June Road Trip? In which we went to Indiana and Illinois so we could see Cross Canadian Ragweed two nights in a row? And how the second night we got to wait out not one, but two severe storms and other assorted rainfall? And how I ended up calf-deep in mud, but had a fantastic time? Behold...


Awesome, no? At the time whoever took this picture was braving the elements to get the shot, we were in my little red Cavalier, probably 40 feet to the right, out of frame, um... waiting out the storm.

On a related note, the new CD, Happiness And All The Other Things, after only one week of release, hit #33 on the Billboard Top 200, and #10 on the country charts. Not bad for a band many of you never would have heard of, were it not for Yours Truly! (Now... go! Buy! You won't regret it!)

Busy Brain, Lazy Everything Else

(I have no idea why there's not a fourth panel here. Maybe it was a 3-panel strip, and someone laid it out in this square. But it makes it look like there should be a fourth panel. Feel free to draw your own. But if you do it on your monitor, I suggest you use a dry-erase marker. Especially if you're at work.)

The Setting: My family's trailer, in rural northern West Virginia
The Time: Any weekend, or any day in the summer, any time in the 1970s
The Participants: Me, and my mom

I am either draped theatrically on the couch, or face-down and limp on my bed.

Me: I'm bored.
Mom: Well, find something to do, or I'll find something for you.
Me: No, that's not what I mean.
Mom: "Bored" means you need something to do.
Me: It does not. (While thinking, "Geez, mothers are so clueless. Somebody'd better hurry up and invent the Internet, since my mean parents won't go into debt and buy me a set of encyclopedias.")

Boredom and laziness have been recurring topics here. It occurred to me that I need to clarify exactly what these terms mean. You know, in my head.

I am physically very, very lazy. I'm not particularly proud of that, but I'm self-aware enough to have recognized and accepted that over the past 4+ decades. I'm also not ashamed of it, though. It's just a fact, a characteristic, like my brown eyes or that I don't like spicy food.

My brain, however, is the opposite of lazy. It is very busy. Hyperactive. In overdrive all the time. If I'm awake, I need a steady stream of input into the old noggin. TV, books, music, multiple internet windows... Stuff has to be going on all the time.

When Mom said she'd find something for me to do, it would likely be things like trimming the bushes in front of the trailer, cleaning out under the kitchen cabinets, or weeding the flower beds. None of which would solve my problem, which is that my head was not receiving sufficient stimulation. I didn't want to "do" something. I needed to "think" something.

The things she was prepared to suggest would not only fail to solve my problem, they would make it infinitely worse. Housework and yard work are the most mind-numbingly boring things in the world. Simply having my body be physically busy, when it would much prefer to flop on my bed, surrounded by dozens of posters torn from Tiger Beat or Hit Parader magazines, was not acceptable.

This problem continues to this day, because I'm married to someone who "does things." When he's bored, he does something in the yard, goes on some errand or other, or decides to pull everything out of a closet. These things don't help me at all.

When I'm bored, I need a great new idea for something to write, an interesting online conversation, or a fantastic book to read. "Doing" something isn't the solution. My brain is still riding around in my skull, going, "Hey, nothing to do up here. Mayday! Mayday! I'm just going to spin in useless circles till you find something else fascinating for me to think about."

To be honest, this probably has a lot to do with why I am predisposed to overindulge in alcohol. If the brain isn't busy and it's going to be all demanding and annoying, I will shut it down, chemically if necessary.

I'm just glad I'm not married to a "talker." That is the third category of boredom avoidance. You probably know people like this. They might also be thing-doers, but they are seldom busy-brains. They are incapable of sitting quietly. I will be contentedly lounging on the Sofur, working out plot points, reading, and/or watching TV, quite happy inside my own head, and they feel compelled to talk. Constantly. About nothing. Just to be talking. I understand that this is how they stay engaged in the world and avoid that feeling of "nothing is happening." But I can't stand it.

Be quiet! I'm trying to think!

This is why Alzheimer's Disease scares the living Flying Spaghetti Monster out of me. Old age - assuming I ever reach it, which I doubt - can involve a wheelchair if it wants. Deafness might almost be a blessing, except for the loss of being able to listen to Cross Canadian Ragweed (because they'll totally still be recording and performing when I'm old). But anything that messes with the inner workings of my head is unacceptable. Sure, if I'm in late-stage Alzheimer's I won't know or care that my brain no longer works properly. But there's a long time before that, when you're losing cognitive ability but are sharp often enough to know it. At which point, I'm planning to check out permanently. If my intellect is shot, I'm done.

Okay, that got depressing. So I think I'll go sit on the Sofur and think about Seth and Abby a while, and continue figuring out what will be the "conflict keeping us apart" for Mitch and Evan in the new book. Plus, I'm watching Jeopardy and listening for incoming email or instant messages. And I just started reading a new book. My brain will be really busy. But my body, which is basically only good for carrying my brain from place to place, plans to go on an extended break.

At the moment, I'm not bored.

Bonus Conversation:

Setting: My living room
Time: Fifteen minutes ago
Participants: Me and Tom

My Phone: "Hey, baby, I'm nothin' without you. Hey, baby, you're nothin' without me... We've got it constantly." (This is Constantly, the ringtone when Tom calls.)
Me: Hello?
Tom: Chicklet
Me: Hi, honey-bunny
Tom: You always sound out of breath when you answer the phone.
Me: Well, I did have to roll over on the couch to reach it. It was kind of draining.
Tom: Sad.

Sad But Not Surprising

Remember a while back when I posted a bit of a rant about the "world's smallest dog?" And how dogs are not supposed to be smaller than guinea pigs? Because breeding the smallest to the smallest is not exactly a brilliant idea? Because cute is one thing, but healthy is a totally different matter?

Well, sadly, Scooter has paid the ultimate price for his freakishly small size. He was six months old. He jumped or fell from his owners' hands, and shattered his leg. He died from complications of the medications needed to relieve the excruciating pain. (There is really NO safe way to medicate a dog that tiny. The dosages are nearly impossible to calculate, with no margin for error.)

Happy trails, Scooter. It wasn't your fault.

Missing And Confirmed Foreclosed

It's official. Next Door Neighbors (East) are this street's first foreclosure victim.

We had noticed that we hadn't seen them for a while. Their yard was more overgrown than usual, and the trellis was no longer near the front door. Tom noticed that the shed door was ajar, and no lawnmower was visible. The pontoon boat and RV, which they both used themselves and rented out, were not to be seen. No cars in the driveway, no lights in the windows.

I was preparing to launch Jen-Lancaster-Inspired surveillance on the property, to ascertain if they were, in fact, gone, and if they might be expected to return. I planned a photo log, depicting the increasing height of the lawn, as well as accumulation of fliers and junk mail. It was going to be brilliant, stealthy, and hilarious.

Then Tom blew that out of the water by simply asking another neighbor.

Obviously, this was not an avenue of investigation open to me, since I do not talk to neighbors. I have to get my information the good, old-fashioned American way. By spying. I was prepared to speculate on theories ranging from the Witness Protection Program to alien abduction, giant carnivorous squirrels, and spontaneous human combustion. Alas, that is no longer necessary.

This is troubling. Apparently, they were victims of a large second mortgage. I don't understand all the logistics of what happens when you do the giant home equity line of credit in addition to your mortgage, then default. One must assume, based on the empty house next door, that it isn't good. We've been in our house for thirteen years, and they were here long before we were, which makes it even sadder.

And this brings us, at the risk of great insensitivity, to the important point. How is this going to affect me???

They were good neighbors. In my universe, this means that they left me alone other than to occasionally wave when we happened to be pulling in or out of our driveways at the same time. They didn't give me grief about my sometimes-annoying dogs. They didn't invite me to barbecues or expect to be invited here. They didn't come knocking on the door to chat or borrow things. I think the only time Mr. Neighbor ever knocked on our door was one time about ten years ago when our gate had been left open and Sprocket wandered next door to visit, and he brought him home. "I think this is yours." (That is one of only three acceptable reasons to knock on my door. The other two are if you are bearing a giant cardboard check with my name on it, or a much-anticipated delivery such as my new laptop or a gift.)

The vacant house is on the corner of our street and the county road. We're the next house on the street. If it sits empty and falls into worse disrepair, it's not going to do great things for our already-depressed property value. I expect the men in the neighborhood will establish a lawn-mowing cooperative, because all our yards are pretty well-kept (Thank you, Tom. No, I'm still not willing to learn to drive the riding mower. Mowing Under the Influence is probably illegal. If it's not, it should be. And I'm pretty sure that's the only way to get me on the lawnmower... when my resistance is down.).

What if squatters move in? Or Republicans?

What if the house sells, and the new neighbors are obnoxious or - shudder - chatty? Not that I spend a lot of time visible in the yard (love the grapevine-covered privacy fence around the pool!), but what if they're the "lean over the fence and try to initiate conversations with the hermit-like, fur-covered, braless nutjob next door" type?

What if they have eighteen noisy children that run up and down the street, keeping Brody in a frothy bark-frenzy from dawn to dark? My bay window (and my nerves) can't take a whole lot of that.

Even worse... what if they don't like dogs? I know, I know, it seems unfathomable that someone wouldn't adore my dogs. But I see things on TV sometimes. Apparently there are people out there who don't enjoy huge, boisterous, vigilant, hyperactive, barking dogs. Not that I leave them out there to annoy people. When neighbors are out, I try to keep the dogs in. But they do have to go outside sometimes, you know, if only for potty purposes. Or in Darwin's case, to run off some of the energy he's built up, so that he doesn't destroy what's left of my house.

I don't mean to belittle the terrible thing that has befallen my former neighbors. I hope they land on their feet and get reestablished wherever they choose to settle. But this is a source of anxiety for me. There has been no change in our immediate neighbor population in all the years we've lived here. I had it figured out. They left me alone, I left them alone, and everybody was happy.

Now, I'm not so sure.

Vaya con lutefisk, former neighbors. It was nice not talking to you.

Happy Happy Joy Joy

In most respects, this year, this summer, and particularly August flew by so fast that the back-draft blew me off my feet. But August 31, the release date for Cross Canadian Ragweed's newest CD, Happiness And All The Other Things, couldn't get here soon enough.

It is now Wednesday evening, and I've been listening to Happiness - a lot - since Monday. Between playing it all day at work, in the car, and sitting out by the pool last night, I've probably heard it twenty times.

Which means it's time for my review. I'll give my track-by-track opinion, and I hope anyone "in the know" will comment or email with more information where I come up short (because we know Shannon does stop by FF from time to time, despite my oddness) but first, the particulars:

Happiness And All The Other Things
Cross Canadian Ragweed
Universal Records South, 2009
Dedicated to Poodie Locke, 10/3/48 - 5/6/09

The Usual Suspects:
Cody Canada - Lead vocals, electric, acoustic, baritone rhythm and leads
Jeremy Plato - Lead and harmony vocals, 6 string fretless and bowed upright bass
Randy Ragsdale - Drums and percussion
Grady Cross - Electric, baritone rhythm and vocals

This album also features vocal work by Mike McClure, Stephanie Briggs, and Joe Hardy, as well as musical contributions from McClure, Briggs, Hardy, and Lloyd Maines. Once again, the album was produced by "Prodouchebag" Mike McClure, who is a gifted musician, singer and songwriter in his own right.

Lori's Track By Track Review:

In general, this CD feels more "classic rock" and less "southern rock" or (small shudder) "country" than any of the previous 9 releases by Cross Canadian Ragweed. I should qualify this by saying that I am not all that musically well-rounded. When I was a teenager, I listened to anything and everything. But considering that I haven't been a teenager for over half my life - depressingly - and I don't listen to much beyond Ragweed, Carbon Leaf, Reckless Kelly, Micky & The Motorcars, and (recently) Vertical Horizon, and occasional phases of hours on Pandora Radio, my interpretations of musical styles is probably not all that profound.

One thing I love about this album is the diversity. This is one of the characteristics of the band that drew me to them in the first place. In any one album, they can go from classic rock, to southern rock, classic country, blues, and shades of metal, kick-ass party songs and soulful ballads. I hate when I hear a few songs by a band, buy the CD, then find out that all 12 songs sound more or less the same. That's never been a problem with Ragweed, and this CD exemplifies that best of all.

1. 51 Pieces: 5 stars. I've seen this one described as "Dylan-esque." Feels a little Doors-like to me, too. Dark, brooding, driving... It's about last year when their tour bus was stopped outside Cleveland after playing at the House of Blues and having a post-concert party at a nearby bowling alley. All their... um... "toys" were confiscated (that's the 51 pieces). But it turns out the highway patrol missed a few, and they were able to continue the party after they were sent on their way. (Them's my boys!)

2. Bluebonnets: 2 stars. This song is about Cody's older son, Dierks. He was three at the time of the recording, I believe, and introduces the song on the album. It's a beautiful song, and Cody's voice is wonderful... but the whole thing is just a bit too precious for me. I understand and respect the decision to put it on the CD (they weren't going to), and what makes it special, but it's not my kind of song.

3. Burn Like The Sun: 4 stars. Feels classic rock to me. Mid-tempo, with strong harmonies by Stephanie Briggs.

4. To Find My Love: 3 stars. Cover of a song by Stephen Bruton (unless otherwise noted, Cody Canada wrote or co-wrote songs on this CD. He collaborates with Briggs, McClure, Micky Braun, Brandon Jenkins, Jeremy Plato, and probably some other people I'm forgetting to mention). One line I love, "There ain't no point in trying to drown your sorrows, The point is they're drowning you." Very strong lead vocal appearance by Jeremy. Catchy tempo, though I'm at a loss as to how to categorize the genre/type. Southern rock? These guys consistently defy being categorized.

5. Drag: 5 stars. Classic rock, kicky as hell, I really want to move to this one. Reminds me of the attitude in Don't Need You, also known as my "Angry Rebellion Song #2."

6. Kick In The Head: 3.5 stars. This is probably worth more stars, but it's the most country-sounding song on the CD (aside from two of the live bonus tracks), and I automatically shy away from the genre (Thanks, Nashville. Idiots.). Still, I could totally imagine this one getting country-radio air play outside Texas and Oklahoma... except if it isn't another of their "we got screwed over by the country music record execs" songs, it sure sounds like it could be. (This is a case where Those In The Know are welcome to write me with more details about the origin and writing of this song.) It has a great rhythm to it, and clever lyrics. (OK, secretly, I'm probably giving it 4 stars.)

7. Overtable: 4.5 stars. Here's where I need some help, Ragweed Insiders. I love the sound of this song. Love the beat. It has real drive, and I love individual lines. It's putting it all together that confuses me. But as I try to get a handle on it, and to figure out what the musical sound reminds me of... I keep listening to it over and over and over(table?). The way some of the lines sort of break on a minor chord, somehow reminds me of late-60s... but late-60s what? Not British Invasion. Help me out, here!

8. Overtable Interlude: 5 stars. Takes the previous song and seems to condense it, drag out the darkest elements and distill it down. Sounds very late-60s, intense, eerie and adds that "Ragweed Touch." Love the line about "Nothin' in your garden but a black rose." Creepy, beautiful, and resonant. But again, Ragweed Insiders, I want more of the story behind this song.

9. Pretty Lady: 4 stars. Would be 3.5 stars, except I really like Bettie Page, too. We saucy brunettes have to stick together, even across generations. This song is a tribute to Bettie Page, the 1950s pin-up model... who had a bit of an unconventional edge. She did nudes when that was still considered very, very naughty, as well as some fetish and BDSM-looking photos. She died in 2008. The song is nice, though I'm at a loss (again) as to how to categorize it. (Little help, those of you who know more about music than I do? I will update here, and credit sources of input!) The lyrics trip along, bright and splashy like a brook, with just the slightest edgy undertone. Innocent, longing, respectful, admiring. Bettie would have loved it, I bet.

10. Tomorrow: 4 stars. Low-mid-tempo, with a bit of a dreamy feel and a catchier chorus. This song really flows, and features more strong harmonies from Briggs. I might like the lyrics better than the composition on this one, and it's unusual for me to even make a distinction like that with any of Ragweed's stuff. However, I have a suspicion that this song is one that will grow on me the more I listen to it.

11. Confident: 5 stars. Sensuous, dark, powerful, hypnotic. Outstanding guitar and percussion. This song gets me for some reason... the first four lines before the first chorus... wow. I'd love to know more about the origin of this song. Can not sit still when I hear it.

12. My Chances: 4 stars. This song threw me. I admit it. I knew there was going to be piano on this CD... and this is it. It reminded me strongly of the "52nd Street" era Billy Joel. That kind of lyrical piano, with a smooth, strong, distinctive male lead vocalist (Cody) gliding perfectly along with Briggs' piano and the guitar. It is beautifully written and beautifully performed. It grabs your attention and pulls you in. It's just so un-like anything I've heard them perform before... not that that's a bad thing. Their continued growth and evolution is one of the many things that makes me such a devoted fan. I just have to let my brain get used to it. As with Tomorrow, this is a song that I think will grow on me the more I hear it, probably achieving 5-star status.

Hidden Track: Carmelita. 2 stars. I have no idea what to call this. Tex-Mex-Cantina? Almost a bit of a Calypso feel? It's cute and catchy. It just doesn't click with me.

The Live Tracks (covers of various artists... they seem to pick the live tracks largely based on what they love to perform live, and in the case of track 13, as a tribute to a fallen friend)(I think I just decided not to "star" the live tracks. None of them are huge favorites of mine, but the reasons for their selection stand on their own.):

13. Angel Flying Too Close To The Ground: Done in tribute to Poodie Locke, who was road manager for Willie Nelson for over 35 years. Poodie died a couple of days before this song was performed. He was a long-time, loyal friend to Cross Canadian Ragweed, and his loss touched them all very deeply.

14. Soul Agent: Jeremy sang lead on this song on the Mission California CD, but he sounds even better here, live. I thought when I heard him on To Find My Love that his voice has gotten richer and stronger since Mission California, and this confirms it.

15. Train To Birmingham: Was recorded live... in Birmingham.

That's it for the music, boys and girls. But you should buy this CD not only for the music... the liner notes and the commemorative poster with in-depth interview on the back are worth the price all by themselves. I really enjoyed the interview... even a long-time, Google-happy fan like me found plenty of interesting new tidbits of information. Thanks to Shannon Canada and Betsy Baird for putting it all together. I know you ladies probably knew every story and the answer to every question, but the fans appreciate your putting it together into such a fun, interesting interview for us.

There's much more to say about this album. I hear more and dig deeper every time I listen. So you're just going to have to buy it and work through the rest of it on your own!