Thursday, June 14, 2012

D Note love letter 6/14/12

D Tractors,

This weekend looks like this...


The Griffins

Words In Flight $5

Quillion and Mechanical Dan $5


Zumba $8

Synergy, White Flag Raised

Avu24evr (rock)

Gibson County Crawlers, Liston's Good Intent (blues rock)$5

Little Goose (blues rock) $5

That's 11 bands this weekend, 12 if you count the indie rock band In The Deep playing tonight after Geeks Who Drink, 13 if you count the salsa band Sunday night.

We're always excited to have Quillion and Mechanical Dan in the house, partly because they are good bands, but also because they are good friends.

Next Wednesday we start up our swing dance lessons again with Lark Mervine at 7:30pm, $5, followed by the swing music of Farm Jazz at 8pm (free).

We also have a new happy hour menu that is well worth checking out 3-6pm Mon-Fri.

That's a synopsis of the weekend. Send us a line with any questions or comments. We love to hear from you.

D flower

Extra Credit: One of the classic poems from the great Scottish poet Robbie Burns. John Steinbeck took the title of his novel "Of Mice And Men" from this poem. It takes a minute to suss out the language, but it is worth it.

To A Mouse

Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie,
O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi' bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee
Wi' murd'ring pattle!

I'm truly sorry man's dominion,
Has broken nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion,
What makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
An' fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen icker in a thrave
'S a sma' request;
I'll get a blessin wi' the lave,
An' never miss't!

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
It's silly wa's the win's are strewin!
An' naething, now, to big a new ane,
O' foggage green!
An' bleak December's winds ensuin,
Baith snell an' keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste,
An' weary winter comin fast,
An' cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell -
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro' thy cell.

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble,
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the winter's sleety dribble,
An' cranreuch cauld!

But Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain;
The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!

Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me;
The present only toucheth thee:
But och! I backward cast my e'e,
On prospects dreaer!
An' forward, tho' I canna see,
I guess an' fear!

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