Itâs that time of the year, dear friends, when I take my long pink feathered pen in hand, don a smoking jacket, and feebly attempt to poetically end the year of Harry columns. As always, I have to offer a blanket apology to a real poet, Sandra Meek, of Berry College, who probably starts the fire in her fireplace with my yearly poetry-like column. But here goes â¦
Iâm sure that Norman and Peg Arey,
When asked about my yearly holiday poem,
Jump to their bunny slippered feet
And shout, again? Nary!
A scientist who probably knows the definition of albumenoid.
Larry had a slackened look. I m afraid they ain t sellin yet, Will.
Eddie handed me the Jim Franklin poster. It was great: fireworks burst along the top of a banner-sized American flag stretched across a two-lane highway, and sneaking underneath was a lone armadillo nonchalantly carrying the Texas flag in its mouth. A perfect Fourth of July poster.
I looked at the performer list. Except for Doug Sahm, it had the same kind of lineup as the Dripping Springs Reunion the year before without its biggest stars. Another country music event.
I remembered Pat O Day of Concerts West saying: A show with many small acts doesn t add up to a big show. It s still just a show with many small acts.