CHECK THIS OUT: Video, Catch and Release
Last month I did praise and worship for a youth in Alabama and brought my trusty sidekicks/roommates along. Dave kicked a little beat (or an abnormally loud beat rather, as you shall hear on the video...we were in a gym) and Ross held up the low end (by playing the bass I mean, not by touching anyone’s butt thankfully...we’re trying to break him of that habit...putting Tabasco sauce on his fingernails didn’t work).
I just received a copy of the video and figured I’d share a clip with you...it’s a Beau Bristow Trio version of “Sign Me Up.”
Speaking of bass (with a long A), I got to go fishing a couple of weeks ago and have this lovely picture of the first bass (with a short ‘a’) that I have caught in ages. Used to fish a lot as a kid...not so much these days.
Now the main purpose of this blog was to give you the video clip, but I figured that I might as well throw the fish photo in as well. However the fishing photo reminds me of a story....
I used to fish a lot with my friend Matt (he’ll no doubt respond to this I’m sure you can see him in the comments below). Now Matt is the most touch sensitive person I have ever met. He needs personal space of at least 3 feet in all directions. He bows up in a “fight or flight” manner even if you go to pat him on the back. I can’t even imagine what he would do if someone broke the 3 feet personal space perimeter anywhere below the belt (aside from that one time when he was the first to fall asleep at a sleep-over at a friend’s house and we poked blue dots all over his shorts with a pool cue and chalk....wow that sounds immature).
Anyway, one time Matt and I were fishing and I got my lure hung in a tree. If you have ever done this you know the first response it to start trying to jerk it loose with ridiculously aggressive sweeps of the fishing rod. If you have ever gotten that far you know what comes next: a chunk of wood with large sharp metal hooks zipping towards you at Mach 3.
For some reason I felt all of this was better than going to retrieve the lure or cutting the line, but Matt was not of such a mind. As soon as I started trying to yank the lure free he turned his head away and nervously yelled, “Watch it n––!” But that was as far as he got. On this one particular day Matt was sitting to my right in the boat, and I am right handed. This means that at just that moment when the lure came free it came screaming toward him like a patriot missile.
When the proverbial dust cleared and I opened my eyes again, I slowly traced the fishing line from the end of my rod, down into the boat, over into the water, back up out of the water, up Matt’s leg, and all the way to the fishing lure, now dangling from where it had hooked itself in the crotch of Matt’s jeans (which was well exposed from the way he was sitting). From there I abruptly lifted my eyes to catch the look of horror on Matt’s face.
I really can’t remember if he got mad or not. He probably said some unkind things and questioned the legitimacy of my birth. All I remember is laughing at the whole situation... I’m still laughing about it. Sorry Matt.
I just received a copy of the video and figured I’d share a clip with you...it’s a Beau Bristow Trio version of “Sign Me Up.”
Speaking of bass (with a long A), I got to go fishing a couple of weeks ago and have this lovely picture of the first bass (with a short ‘a’) that I have caught in ages. Used to fish a lot as a kid...not so much these days.
Now the main purpose of this blog was to give you the video clip, but I figured that I might as well throw the fish photo in as well. However the fishing photo reminds me of a story....
I used to fish a lot with my friend Matt (he’ll no doubt respond to this I’m sure you can see him in the comments below). Now Matt is the most touch sensitive person I have ever met. He needs personal space of at least 3 feet in all directions. He bows up in a “fight or flight” manner even if you go to pat him on the back. I can’t even imagine what he would do if someone broke the 3 feet personal space perimeter anywhere below the belt (aside from that one time when he was the first to fall asleep at a sleep-over at a friend’s house and we poked blue dots all over his shorts with a pool cue and chalk....wow that sounds immature).
Anyway, one time Matt and I were fishing and I got my lure hung in a tree. If you have ever done this you know the first response it to start trying to jerk it loose with ridiculously aggressive sweeps of the fishing rod. If you have ever gotten that far you know what comes next: a chunk of wood with large sharp metal hooks zipping towards you at Mach 3.
For some reason I felt all of this was better than going to retrieve the lure or cutting the line, but Matt was not of such a mind. As soon as I started trying to yank the lure free he turned his head away and nervously yelled, “Watch it n––!” But that was as far as he got. On this one particular day Matt was sitting to my right in the boat, and I am right handed. This means that at just that moment when the lure came free it came screaming toward him like a patriot missile.
When the proverbial dust cleared and I opened my eyes again, I slowly traced the fishing line from the end of my rod, down into the boat, over into the water, back up out of the water, up Matt’s leg, and all the way to the fishing lure, now dangling from where it had hooked itself in the crotch of Matt’s jeans (which was well exposed from the way he was sitting). From there I abruptly lifted my eyes to catch the look of horror on Matt’s face.
I really can’t remember if he got mad or not. He probably said some unkind things and questioned the legitimacy of my birth. All I remember is laughing at the whole situation... I’m still laughing about it. Sorry Matt.
posted by Beau Bristow at 7:50 AM
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