FB Fights, River Runs Down, but Music Comes Up

Interesting couple of weeks.  I found myself in embroiled in a heated exchange on Facebook with a former in-law who believes black people are genetically less-developed and more prone to violence.  I asked for his sources, and he gave me an author of a badly outdated book, the loud attorney who agreed with him, and horribly biased study by a "racialist" who abuses statistics.  Things got somewhat personal, and it became hard to bite my tongue whenever he posted comments.  Eventually I stopped (even though I still had more to say).  It became apparent he wouldn't listen to ANY kind of reason.  Even his sister (my ex), who I thought might have SOME sense in the matter, seemed to think I was "clueless", giving me the distinct impression that she agreed with his views.  I entreated him to visit with professors of various backgrounds dealing with people, academics who had spent years educating themselves with ALL sides of the issue, then I wrote the guy off.
The river crest was pretty tame this year, which is the best news we could ask for in Spring.  The Sorlie bridge was only closed about a week, and never even flooded.  Just this morning, the Point bridge also opened.  So all avenues to work are back online!  Just a matter of time now before the rest of Spring comes and I can cast off my Winter coat for the season.
I got a new page of Banjo's Tune up.  It's become a habit now to post a page every other week, so expect that. 
Band practice tomorrow (I love being able to say that again), and Open Mic resumes Thursday! 

St. Patrick's and a Memorial, a Pretty Busy Week

I've met up with Cody (upright bassist) a few more times this past month.  Last time even worked on a couple originals, which brings that count up to 3 now.  I gave him the chord progression, showed him my guitar part, and let him go to town figuring out his bassline.  The drummer was out for Spring Break this week, so next week we're hoping to get him up to speed.
I'm still working on the comic, though posting has become a biweekly thing instead of weekly.  I'm not crazy about the delay, but it's apparently necessary, and the story is slowly coming together. 
Last Wednesday was St. Patty's Day.  I normally don't celebrate it, since for me it's like any other holiday, but I got a message from the punk rockers I hang out with at Mike's inviting me to a celebratory gathering.  Karissa told me to go, so I had to listen. 
All was pretty good times, but right at midnight, the music shut off, and I found myself in the middle of a memorial.  Ray Mesa, a close member of their group, died 3/18 a year ago in the very apartment we were in, of a heart problem.  He was found on the floor by a couple of the punks, one of them his little brother, Todd. 
Someone put on an Irish track memorializing a Fallen Comrade, and we all listened in silence.  I glanced over at the other guys at one point and saw tears streaming down their faces.  I'd heard stories of Ray since I started hanging out with them, and actually went to the benefit concert last April that was held in his honor, but I had a rare opportunity that night to see what he really meant to them. 
After they had recovered themselves somewhat, the party resumed.  It was cool to see these guys allowing themselves some time for grief and remembrance, but then going back to celebrate life.  One of them got a call from a guy we call Jagger, who was at O'Really's and needed out help.  He was apparently making some enemies with his mohawk and thought some guys were waiting for him outside.  So, we hopped in my minivan to get him, having a good laugh over the silliness of coming to rescue a punk from a fight in a minivan.  We didn't find him, and found out soon after that he made it out okay and went to the party.  He and I talked later about the value of consistency in child discipline. 
Of course, one of the partiers, a hanger-on that not many seemed to know that well, had drank too much, and suddenly become over-emotional.  He's my age, and likes to fight--actually looks for fights sometimes.  He barely knew Ray when he was alive, but let himself get caught up in the moment, and at point was screaming out "Raaay!  Fucking Raaaay!" like an idiot.  One of the punks, Streak, had to be restrained in the bedroom and was doing all he could to not come out and kill the guy.  It's one thing to pay respects, it's another thing entirely to act like you were tight with the guy just because you want to fit in with the other grieving friends. 
He finally had to be calmed down and escorted out--by Todd, Ray's brother.  This kid's still in his teens, and was handling this big dickhead with more maturity than I've seen in people my age. 
Helluva night.  Lots of laughs, some tears, came close to a couple fights, even.  I had to show my I.D. to a few people who didn't believe I was 30 (it's the boyish good looks and the fun-having).
Last night I hit Mike's again, which will turn out to be the last for a couple weeks, since the bridges closed.  I brought out my harmony again, it played great this time.  I had to put up with a couple girls playing Miley Cyrus and Lady Gaga covers (seriously, they did) before the guys dragged me to a midnight showing of Repo Men, which I found unexpectedly entertaining.