At some point during the course of 2004, presumably when the weather started to get hot, it was decided that Pops needed a hair cut. As I’m not well known for my ability to recall many of the stories that went down in the Riot House, I’m not sure of the specifics surrounding this particular decision to give Pops a hair cut. I do remember there being a discussion about making him “look like a lion“, and will admit to being part of the team of stylists that performed the ever-so-delicate task of giving Pops a “mane”. He was pretty shy after the whole affair, but perhaps not as shy as later on in retirement when Mrs. Ogden decided to give him a shave.. but more to come on that later.
This is the sun room of 498 Grant Street, converted to a jam room for the evening by half a dozen of my Boston friends in town for St Patricks Day, more of it on the Fbook…
There was a strange guy that came over, he said he was our neighbor and brought along a horribly bleach blonde and stone washed 80s tranny he offered as his sister…When he sang he kept shouting the same dark, violent melody akin to Korn fronted by a WWF wrestler…People were away from campus and not a lot of folks showed up on this particular night, and this balding, thick framed redneck hogging the (nonexistent) mic gave my friends there most lasting memory of Kentucky….we are a Santana band so we played Oye Como Va and shut’em up….
Pops enjoyed the show, our soft as flour guard dog, more like a Dharma Bum tramping around detached and demanding of affection all at once. Like most dogs, he slept anywhere, often with a crowd around playing instruments, or the stereo at top volume. Here, he is where the action is, where the musicians are singing songs and stomping their feet, trading keyboards for trumpets and handles of Early Times for a six string or mandolin. Let’s just say, we were a little low on supplies. Partying to the max for as many days as we had all done took its toll, it even shows in Pops.