early August, ought eight

Deophytes,

Strange how we seem to actually like drama in our lives. We moan and groan about it, but still we keep it up. So we must like it. What is that all about? Is it merely because we need our stories to be able to have something to say. Do we need to have a story in order to have an identity? Regardless of wy, it seems to be an inescapable hurdle in the human experience. We often remember the first two lines of a poem written by Joseph George, "Steady steady/ Ebb and flow", a kind of mantra against all the seemingly futile thrashings of "fate" we can never quite escape despite all of our superior knowledge and wisdom.

Deep thoughts. We prescribe to ourselves a cure: deep music. Tonight, Thursday, July 31, 8pm, Elana Rogers, Dave Preston and guests, $5. Tomorrow night Gigi Love and Casey Frazier from 6-8:30pm. Then the Dick Ramada band is back at 9pm for some good old fashioned rock and roll. $5. Saturday night we have the return of the popular Hafla at 7pm. $6 Then at 10pm comes Neo Tundra Cowboy, a very interesting band from Boise Idaho. $5

Buttons,

D press

Extra Credit: A poem made up on the spot, just for you, from a story often told by our father, David DeGraff.

The Mouse That Made It

Since you ask my advice, Miss,
I'll tell you the story of two mice
who fell into a bowl of creamy milk.
The mice suddenly had no choice

but tread milk or else drown.
The first in softest voice said,
"'Tis no matter, why wait?
Better now than later."

The second bid him wait
and try a little longer,
"Perhaps another fate
awaits us, Brother?"

But the first was resolute
and so he just gave up.
He sunk into the bowl
of milk, glup glup glup.

But the second grit
his teeth and kept swimming
with all his might, swam
for all that mattered.

And sure enough, Miss,
pretty soon the little brave mouse
had churned up all the milk
into a lovely vat of butter.