Sunday – 08 July 2007: coda
Today was good. Lazy. Relaxed. And just… plain… good.
More about today after this break to backfill last night’s experience:

I neglected to mention that I went downtown last night to see Diane Schuur with the Salt Lake City Jazz Orchestra. She put on a nice set. I think that I knew – somewhere in the back of my head – that she played piano, but for some reason spaced it off until seeing her play last night. *duhr* After her set, I stayed to watch Luther Hughes & The Cannonball-Coltrane Project, a five-piece band (upright bass, trumpet, sax, piano and drums) I liked them. Sure, some of the jokes between the songs were a bit stale/corny, but when they were playing… man, they were pretty hot.

I woke up this morning; I considered that a good start to the day. From there, I proceeded to do a whole lot of nothing for the next few hours. And that was fine. After a while, though, it wasn’t fine, so I decided to run a few errands.

And get a mocha.
Naturally.

Mocha was acquired. Errands were run. Then, it was time to find something for lunch… but I didn’t want the same old same. Jitterbug fit the bill, nicely. Post-food, I drove down to hang out with Kate, Perry and the kids for a bit… and came home with a few new pieces of plastic crack.

I did a few things around the apartment – including rehanging some pictures – before heading downtown to catch the final act of the Jazz Festival: Big Bad Voodoo Daddy. It was the second time I’ve seen them in the past… year or so. And the show, though shorter, was every bit as good. They ended their set with Go-Daddy-O… and then filed offstage. People started leaving, but I stood in place – there was no way that they could end a show without doing their signature piece, So Long, Farewell, Goodbye. A minute or two later, they reappeared onstage and went into it. Before ending the song, Scotty broke into a few measures of Sweet Home Alabama and the rest of the band joined in. The crowd… went… nuts. I would love to hear them do a full version of that, I bet that it would rock eight ways from Sunday and in ways that Lynyrd Skynyrd never imagined. It was a great end to the festival. And, I may have to try and catch them in Vegas next month, God willing and the creek don’t rise.

Stray Toasters

Namaste.