(By the way, doesn’t this just look like a stroke of genius?)

Let’s not even talk about the Bluegrass [...]]]> …I’d take some scissors to an old pair of jeans if I didn’t have me some baggy shorts today. The Indiana summer makes white trash of us all. Doesn’t this look like a great idea right about now?

(By the way, doesn’t this just look like a stroke of genius?)

Let’s not even talk about the Bluegrass festival I went to with my dad this weekend. I’m surprised I only saw one representation of the Confederate flag. It was only on a t-shirt lapel anyway. And in case you were thinking, “Who the hell would go to a Bluegrass festival in southern Indiana?”, tell me you didn’t see O Brother, Where Art Thou and wish you could sing with the Soggy Bottom Boys.  They were at the festival, btw (the real band, not that pretty George Clooney) and they were great. There’s something sort of ethereal and primordial about this music that calls to me…

Makes me wish I’d followed my mother’s dream to become Jenny Lou, the country star.