Festerin’!

Back from the Philly Folk Fest for a day, and I’m still a little dizzy. It’s so strange to be completely immersed in a small community for even just a few days only to reemerge back into the world. But it certainly makes you treasure every shower like it’s your first.

The music was phenomenal. Kathy & I bought seven CDs between us; the past few we’ve only bought a few. The Red Stick Ramblers, a Cajun swing outfit, were probably my favorite band of the show. But maybe it was the Mammals, a bluegrass band with a sharp political tongue. Modern Man was certainly the funniest act we saw; it’s not on their album, but their bouncy theme song for “Abdul the Reluctant Martyr” had me in tears. The Avett Brothers have a crazy energy to their live show, and it carries through on their album, Mignonette; it’s gotten the most play from me so far. Kathy got three other discs, but I only saw one of the artists: the Wailin’ Jennies, a terrific female harmony group whose name must drive hard-of-hearing booking agents crazy. Marcia Ball, Ann Rabson, Arlo Guthrie, The Glengharry Bhoys – so much good music.

Campwise, it was fairly small this year: just me & Kathy, Jay and Mick. Fot the first time, we had a banner: we’re “The Confediracy of Duncez.” Gotta get the strategic misspellings in – no dunce is without ‘em. For some reason, we adopted the Robot Chicken theme song as a marching tune, and would cluck happily as we tromped around the muddy camp. (The very cool Lauren from Huzzah told us that there used to be another Confederacy of Dunces at fest, but they stopped coming a few years ago. I don’t remember them, but who remembers all of Fest, anyway?)

And dunces we were. Kathy and I were rushed in packing (having just come home from a vacation and being inveterate procrastinators besides) and completely forgot ponchos. They mighta come in handy on Saturday and Sunday. We did, however, have a brand new tent (which performed quite well in the rain) and an inflatable mattress (bliss!), which made camp life much more comfortable. When we weren’t soaked.

Sunday night is usually my favorite night in camp. A lot of people have gone home by then, but there’s still a decent amount who stay. There’s a lot less to see, musicwise, and I never find myself wondering what else is going on. I stand there, wobbly but completely in the now. Had a great conversation about music, movies, and technical writing with a gent named Leon who camps with the Flamingos. Wandered around the camp one last time. Enjoyed it all.

I should go now. Work needs me awake, which means I’ll need to sleep before then. But it’s hard adapting to a normal schedule again.

Rob