The Recap...

Goooooood afternoon connoisseurs! Sorry its been so long, but this has definitely been the busiest two...no i guess its been three weeks of the entire summer. I could've blogged after The Party, but we had a cousin to entertain and i just dinna feel like it. I could've blogged from Branson at the fam reunion, but you know how that all plays, just too much to pack in to too little time. I could've blogged from Denver but, it would've cut into my golf...be it playing or watching The British Open. So this is what you get...The Recap.

Well...lessee...coolest thing we did in Redneck Vegas...tough one, since there were actually two. After the shortest family reunion in history, fortunately for The Queen since she spent the entire weekend in the bedroom of the condo with some godawful stomach plague, we loaded up the kids and went to see The Titanic (or if you're of the Royal fam and are six or under- 'Titantic') exhibit there in Branson. I gotta tell ya...it's cooler than the other side of the pillow...literally. When you enter, they give you a ticket with an actual Titanic soul's name on it...and that is your own personal character to find out exactly what happened to "you" should you have boarded that fateful day in Ireland. Mine was the Marconi radio operator Jack Phillips, who, in the course of saving many lives, went down with the ship, hammering out the "CQD" (SOS) signal from the doomed radio room, or so one story goes. There was also an ice wall to run your hand over as you entered, an ominous harbinger of the grim history waiting inside. There were actual relics recovered from survivors and the dead alike. Its was all very well done. Probably the most relative aspect was the small pool of 28* water you could submerge your hand in, up to your elbow if you wanted, to demonstrate the actual water temperature many of the victims were floating in after the vessel sank. There was a clock beside the exhibit to keep time of just how long you could stand it...maximum time was three minutes. The management asked that you not go longer than that time for safety's sake. Most only dipped in their fingers and shuddered horribly, quickly jerking them back out with an "OH MY GOD THAT'S COLLLLD!" A few brave souls lasted 20-30 seconds before "THAT'S ENOUGH...i can't do it anymore." I shoved my entire hand in over my wrist and started the clock. At 20 seconds the intensity of the numbing cold was almost unbearable, at around a minute it almost became somewhat a sense of stabbing heat rolling throughout my lethargic fingers, at a minute and a half most sensation was gone, just an intense dull throbbing ache throughout my entire forearm, and i could feel the thickened blood cooling up into my elbow as my body strove to keep the thinner, warmer blood moving down, but the frigid water was just too hungry drawing the warmth like light in a black hole. After two minutes and thirty seconds my fingers felt like large frozen sausages, i tried to flex but only slightly curled my fingers before they just stopped all inward motion and the dull pain in my forearm and elbow screamed as if broken. The blood was cooling up over my elbow at this point. At three minutes, honestly, there was nothing but a strange, dim tingling throughout my entire hand, i wouldn't say it was pleasant, but there was just nothing...but numb...harsh...cold. I was told to remove my hand at that point and when i did, the air conditioned air felt very hot. It took over a half an hour for my hand to return to normal...and i was only in it for three minutes...some survivors were in that evil water for over an hour and a half... I have a new appreciation for the resilient mechanism that is the human body...how they survived i'll never know, never understand...but those that did, and didn't slide off into the hostily frigid depths, but shook their fist at the icy scythe of Death and through gritty teeth screamed, "Not TODAY" I salute them...and give thanks, as they must have thousands of times over their remaining lives, to the Lord for His Mercy on their souls, for another breath, and another breath, and another...

The next thing was not nearly so truculent... an old friend of mine from the OKC 23rd Street Pipes and Drums is now a drummer in a very, VERY cool ceilidh band in Branson. There, after 10 p.m. on most Saturday nights, you'll find Dirty Old Towne playing some new twists on some classic Scottish and Irish tunes, and some sweet jig and reels of their own.

I drug Big Bro (a frequent commenter here at The Table) with me, telling him we'd only stay for about an hour or so and i'd take him wherever he wanted after that. He had a poker date with some friends and he really wanted to go play. To make a long story very short...Dirty Old Towne played for 2 hours and 15 minutes...without a break...and i'm telling you EVERYONE in the bar the ENTIRE time was either dancing, clapping, singing, or stomping their feet....and smiling. No fights, no yelling, no shoving, i didn't even see anyone get mad about getting stepped on. It was loud, it was sweaty, it was Irish, and it...was...F.U.N... So much so that Big Bro bought their CD and wouldn't hear of my apologies for keeping him so late (and he ain't...wasn't a Celtic music fan).

Daniel couldn't believe i was there, it was a happy reunion in and of itself. He's a good kid, and now i have a good reason to visit Branson. So, if you are ever in Redneck Vegas and are looking for some true talent that is under the age of say...25...a good Irish froth (i highly recommend the Beamish on draught), and some great food...head right over to a little Irish bar on The Landing called Waxy O'Shea's...and say hi to Daniel the Drummer for me...believe me...you'll be richer for the evening of losing a few coins to the barkeep.

...To Be Continued...