Alejandro Escovedo: Street Songs of Love

It would be hard to beat punk-rock survivor Alejandro Escovedo's 2008 effort, Real Animal.  And I'm not sure his new follow-up record, Street Songs of Love, quite does it.

But it's pretty damned close.  Whereas Real Animal was very autobiographical, Street Songs is, as the title suggests, a set of songs about love -- pure and not so pure -- that gets its beautiful depth and scruffy character from someone who's seen the best and worst of life.

This time around, Escovedo is bringing a couple of friends with him.  The Boss himself shows up on the rocker "Faith." That's something of a role reversal, since it was Escovedo playing "Always A Friend" onstage with Springsteen and the E Street Band a couple years back.

Ian Hunter also lends his inimitable voice on the sad but masterfully produced "Down In The Bowery."  That production work is again handled by Chuck Prophet, who uses a female chorus to sprinkle a liberal dose of fun, retro oohs and yeaahs throughout the album.

Other standout tracks include the rocker "Anchor," and "Street Songs," the cool rapping title track.  Whether you're a longtime Escovedo fan or just looking to get your feed wet, Street Songs is easy to love.

Road Photo Friday: Awesomest. Shower. Ever.

After an aborted fishing trip in the Gulf of Mexico courtesy of Hurricane Alex, nothing feels better than a good hot shower.  All that sticky, salty, sand-filled air-and-water-mix that's blowing in your face at 40-plus mile-per-hour leaves you feeling pretty road hard and put away wet.

The folks at Galveston's Hotel Galvez understand that.  In addition to the traditional fully adjustable wall-mounted showerhead, there's a second pizza-sized sprinkler placed in the middle of the stall's ceiling.

The result is full frontal hot-water bliss.  Why don't more places do this?  And why the hell didn't I build one into my shower stall when I redid it a couple years back?

Let The Bounty Begin

It's been about a month and a half since I talked about my garden -- that 20x20 expanse of hope that we planted back in mid-May.

I'm happy to report that the garden is doing fine -- amazing in fact.  That's by no means a brag, I assure you.  Sure, we've set the table by timely planting, watering, mulching, and weeding but nearly every crop in my patch has thrived.  I mean, like moreso than many other accomplished Master Gardeners that are my neighbors.  And I have no idea why.  Maybe there is something to this green thumb thing. 

Whatever it is, it's been a great family affair, and truth told, kind of addicting.  I used to dread pulling weeds, now I actually enjoy it (no such luck for the kids yet).  And walking up to my plot (it's on the neighborhood schoolyards about a mile from my house) is akin to the feeling you used to get on Christmas morning -- you never know what you'll find.

Such was the case over the weekend.  We'd all been looking forward to harvesting the first Early Girl tomato of the season, but we all assumed there'd be little else to do other than pull a few more weeds.  Boy were we wrong.

The tomato was indeed ripe for the picking, and so were peppers (jalapenos, bells, and anchos), eggplant, zuchini, a few green and yellow wax beans, carrots, and a nice boquet of zinias and other garden flowers. 

The kids have hatched a plan to sell any extra produce (the Good Lord willing, I think we'll have plenty) at my office, with the proceeds going to the local food bank.  Hopefully their "Tomatoes For Change" campaign will help some folks out who otherwise might go hungry.

The Great Lenexa Barbecue Battle

That "fog" you see in the photo above isn't fog at all.  It's the pungent, sweet smell of barbecue smoke, thanks to this weekend's Great Lenexa Barbecue Battle.  Faithful readers of 8MM know that Kansas Citians consider themselves to be at the epicenter of the best barbecue restaurants and backyard smoking in the world, and the cookoff this weekend is yet more proof that 'Cue is King in KC.

Most contests like these are two-day affairs.  Things kick off on Fridays, and nearly 200 teams converge on Sar-Ko-Par park, less than a mile from Casa Scampwalker.  It's easy to know when it's competition weekend -- we're greeted by the telltale aroma as soon as we walk out our front door.  Friday nights are typically social affairs.  It pays to know people -- all the parties (replete with outstanding smoked meat and copious amounts of beer) are private, but the mood is jovial and it usually isn't too difficult to find someone that's willing to throw you a bone (so to speak).

We walked over to the park this morning to snap these photos, and while the crowds were gone, the scene was just heating up, with plenty of hungover guys getting ready to plate their offerings for the judges.  As big as this event is, it's small potatoes compared to the American Royal Barbecue, held every fall in KC and considered the biggest and most prestigious contest of its kind anywhere.

The New QU

When I arrived home from work yesterday evening, a new (and very different-looking) Quail Unlimited magazine was sitting on the counter.  Gone was the cheesy cursive masthead logo, and gone was the terrible, amateurish cover photo that usually adorned the increasingly thin magazine.

It was replaced by a rather hefty book with an updated logo (even though the stylized quail head looks a bit like a pissed off chicken) and a lovely photo of a covey rise by esteemed outdoor photographer Terry Allen.

The magazine -- and ,much of the organization itself -- is now administered by Steve Smith and Village Press, the same guys that publish and edit Pointing Dog Journal, among other titles.  I haven't had much of a chance to read the magazine, but in flipping through it, I'm betting it's going to stay a little longer in my "reading library" than the old QU magazines.

While I'm still not quite ready to throw my money -- and sweat equity -- at the organization again, this step is nonetheless promising.  Mr. Smith can put together a magazine, and more importantly, Village Press has mailing lists and marketing savvy that just may help save this once-proud conservation group.

Road Photo Friday: Arizona Mearns Quail, A Photo Essay

One could make a convincing argument that Mearns quail are nicknamed "Fool's Quail" for a number of good reasons. One glance at these little birds explains at least part of the moniker. They look like they were cobbled together by God's Spare Parts Department -- particularly the cockbirds. A ruddy, toupee-looking crest, a stubby beak, a polka-dotted breast, and a sawed-off tail. Yet without a doubt, the birds are some of the most beautiful birds an upland hunter can hope to pursue.

Their uniqueness extends to their feet -- long toes and toenails further distinguish this bird from his other quail cousins. The funky-looking appendages are perfectly suited though for the Mearns' primary means of eating -- digging at small roots and tubers found just below the surface of the arid, scrub oak dotted hills that they inhabit.

The birds are best found at 5,000 feet (give or take) above sea level. They can be found in feeder canyons, feeding and loafing in grassy meadows. The scenery is beautiful, and much of it is spent walking up-and-down, or at least traversing loose rock hillsides.

Those lacking healthy hearts or good boot leather need not apply.

We hunted public lands within a mile or so of the Mexican border, and saw numerous instances of illegal border crossings and makeshift camps. Water jugs, empty backpacks, tin cans, and small campfires dotted the landscape wherever we went.  Border Patrol jeeps, planes, and helicopters showed themselves from time to time, on a far more important hunt of their own. I never felt in danger, but I did feel on more than one occasion like I was being watched... friend or foe I'm not certain.

Jim's string of shorthairs were Mearns marvels. They'd lock on point, and relocate as the covey moved, never bumping a bird. Once the dogs corner them, the guns move in. These quail hold tightly -- so much so that you'd think you were chasing preserve birds.

On a Mearns rise, I quickly learned that two shots are too many, but three shots are never enough. Invariably, I'd unload my gun on the one or two initial birds to take wing, only to have an unloaded gun when the larger covey flushed, right at my feet.

Fool's Quail indeed.

Road Photo Friday: The Picture Pretty Much Says It All.

Near Elsmore, in southeast Kansas.  Of course, they have a website.