![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
I was extolling the virtues of local honey in aid of allergies to one of my coworkers, and he said, "Oh, I could put it on my toast in the morning." Well damn, why have I never thought of that before? Yum. *is having some* :9
...
We have a stupid cardinal who dashes himself against the window of the dining room every morning. I scared him off a dozen times this morning, but he probably does it for hours when I'm not home and hasn't killed himself yet so I don't know why I bother. But as I was doing that this morning I noticed that I could faintly hear what sounded like talk radio - a lot of blah blah blah with no dead air space whatsoever. I couldn't figure out where it was coming from. My Dad had a story about how, when he lived on Swan's Island, the ghost of the sea captain would come home every weekend and he could hear the radio playing old music all weekend. Great, my Dad had a ghost that liked to listen to cool 20s and 30s music, I get a ghost who likes talk radio. :P (I can hear music, now - some neighbour obviously turns their radio up way too loud. We would never play our music loud. Except for 4 to 9pm.;) It's classical, now.)
...
The official obituary for Gerard Edmond ("Butch" "Saxman" "Mr Pink" "Lance Hardbody") Tanguay.
Butch joined the Air Force Band and was stationed in the Panama Canal Zone for his term. He then played in the band that toured with the Platters, and later, on cruise ships with other stars including Gordon and Sheila MacRae's daughter Meredith. Returning to Maine, he played with several bands in and around the Portland area. St. Gerard was a nickname given to him by many due to the amount of patience he had regardless of circumstances.
He had this crazy story about being air-dropped in to some South American country to play at a college, but then, oddly, a coup happened, starting at that college, and they didn't get to play. Unwitting pawn cover to a secret agent provocateur, or was he in on the whole thing and took the real story to his grave?
He also swore that no pictures would ever see the light of day in which he had a mustache, which Moose attributed to him possibly being known in South America as some kind of undercover agent or drug cartel kingpin, particularly recognizable when he had the mustache. It's true that picture on the obit looks quite unlike the Butchie we knew.
Of special note, if you don't want to go scroll through all the comments to see it, I liked this entry, written by RockCollector (who is probably high-functioning Autistic, undiagnosed, but definitely has a unique communication style):
Gerard (Butch) Tanguay was taken from us too quickly. He always kept his spirit up even when he wasn't feeling too good. His saxophone playing was awesome to listen to. I will never forget him and I really enjoyed working with him. I won't forget the one time I was walking by Butch singing the theme song to either Foxwoods or the Portland Sea Dogs. Butch said that he didn't know that I was a professional singer, I said that I wasn't and then he said that I should leave the singing to the professionals. I loved his humor.
My prayers are with his wife Barbara and his family.
You can tell he chose a couple of stock phrases to begin and end with in order to sound 'right,' but the story is purely him. A joke on him, but he totally did not feel bad about it, he appreciated is as a joke. And of course also the way Butch would say something like that was so affectionate nobody ever would take offense.
...
(On a somewhat unrelated note, I seem to have lost the power to use Photobucket to store my pictures and then show them here. Did something change, or have I forgotten how to do it?)
...
We have a stupid cardinal who dashes himself against the window of the dining room every morning. I scared him off a dozen times this morning, but he probably does it for hours when I'm not home and hasn't killed himself yet so I don't know why I bother. But as I was doing that this morning I noticed that I could faintly hear what sounded like talk radio - a lot of blah blah blah with no dead air space whatsoever. I couldn't figure out where it was coming from. My Dad had a story about how, when he lived on Swan's Island, the ghost of the sea captain would come home every weekend and he could hear the radio playing old music all weekend. Great, my Dad had a ghost that liked to listen to cool 20s and 30s music, I get a ghost who likes talk radio. :P (I can hear music, now - some neighbour obviously turns their radio up way too loud. We would never play our music loud. Except for 4 to 9pm.;) It's classical, now.)
...
The official obituary for Gerard Edmond ("Butch" "Saxman" "Mr Pink" "Lance Hardbody") Tanguay.
Butch joined the Air Force Band and was stationed in the Panama Canal Zone for his term. He then played in the band that toured with the Platters, and later, on cruise ships with other stars including Gordon and Sheila MacRae's daughter Meredith. Returning to Maine, he played with several bands in and around the Portland area. St. Gerard was a nickname given to him by many due to the amount of patience he had regardless of circumstances.
He had this crazy story about being air-dropped in to some South American country to play at a college, but then, oddly, a coup happened, starting at that college, and they didn't get to play. Unwitting pawn cover to a secret agent provocateur, or was he in on the whole thing and took the real story to his grave?
He also swore that no pictures would ever see the light of day in which he had a mustache, which Moose attributed to him possibly being known in South America as some kind of undercover agent or drug cartel kingpin, particularly recognizable when he had the mustache. It's true that picture on the obit looks quite unlike the Butchie we knew.
Of special note, if you don't want to go scroll through all the comments to see it, I liked this entry, written by RockCollector (who is probably high-functioning Autistic, undiagnosed, but definitely has a unique communication style):
Gerard (Butch) Tanguay was taken from us too quickly. He always kept his spirit up even when he wasn't feeling too good. His saxophone playing was awesome to listen to. I will never forget him and I really enjoyed working with him. I won't forget the one time I was walking by Butch singing the theme song to either Foxwoods or the Portland Sea Dogs. Butch said that he didn't know that I was a professional singer, I said that I wasn't and then he said that I should leave the singing to the professionals. I loved his humor.
My prayers are with his wife Barbara and his family.
You can tell he chose a couple of stock phrases to begin and end with in order to sound 'right,' but the story is purely him. A joke on him, but he totally did not feel bad about it, he appreciated is as a joke. And of course also the way Butch would say something like that was so affectionate nobody ever would take offense.
...
(On a somewhat unrelated note, I seem to have lost the power to use Photobucket to store my pictures and then show them here. Did something change, or have I forgotten how to do it?)