And I didn't even get the souvlaki, dag nabbit

Nine lessons learned during our semi-brief visit to LarkFest in Albany today:

One: One should not show up at a street festival with only five dollars in your pocket.

Two: One should, however, make a point of making appropriate donations with that five dollars to deserving parties (e.g. Planned Parenthood, PFLAG, and really good street magicians).

Three: Kilted musician-friend Bill is ridiculously generous; we left with a metric snootload of burned CDs, including a full seven discs' worth of Moody Blues, and a wide selection of obscure label samplers. (We now have tracks by Can, Henry Cow and Captain Beefheart. Tremble in FEAR.)

Four: In retrospect, drinking the free beverage handed to me by the recruiter for that fundamentalist church may not have been the wisest of ideas.

Five: Support your local rock band, especially if they intro a song by making "devil horns" and howling, "RAMONES!" (That would be Blackcat Elliot. Good band. Hey, jenphalian: we snagged a magnet with this logo on it. You want?)

Six: The festival ain't over 'til you've gotten free swag from the sponsoring radio station.

Seven: I could never be a hippie, but I've found that if I don't spend time in the presence of hippies once in a while, I get a bit surly.

Eight: Live music makes me want to perform a set of originals somewhere.

Nine: Better walking shoes next time, dummy.