Hokum

I was afraid it would happen and it did: While I was attempting to export my old blog postings and change my server configuration, I deleted the first six months of postings from last year. These are unrecoverable. However, I did manage to save the others — although they will have to be cut/pasted by hand. I hope to get that done over the next week or so. Meanwhile, I’ll fill out the theme on this new software and clean things up. Please bear with me.

I’ve decided to get off of this blogging platform — and change my hosting system from Microsoft Exchange to Linux to boot — and that means I’ve got some severe geekiness to perform, including figuring out how to export a year and a half of blog posts in a system that isn’t designed to do that. This may require me to stop updating for a week or two. I’ll keep you posted.

A few years ago, I was sitting on a Mississippi River levee in Helena, Arkansas with a few thousand other people, listening to the bands put it down at the King Biscuit blues fest, when I looked over to my left and — lo and behold, there was Levon Helm.

He was sitting in a lawn chair next to another man I did not know, and nobody was seemed to recognize Helena’s most famous son (although Sonnyboy Williamson II and some others might dispute that) and he was digging the music on the stage.

He couldn’t sing then and he could barely talk. I tried not to think too much about that, or to act like the pathetic fanboy that I was, or to mention to him that I always bugged the drummers I played with to sound more like Levon Helm, and I resisted the urge to be the 10,428th person to tell him that The Weight, Evangeline and The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down were among my favorite songs of all time.

Levon was recovering from throat cancer. I thought I had heard his last notes as a singer. I hadn’t.

I caught Levon a few months ago when he appeared on Don Imus’ show — and was shocked when he sang. He sounded just like Levon, only older, and he said he was putting together an album.

And here it is. It’s called Dirt Farmer and it is shockingly great, especially if you are a sucker for all music Americana (and I am). Go buy it now.

Four games?!? Really? Four friggin’ games — and very little drama in those four games to boot?

Congrats to Boston, I guess, although I’m not sure what New Englanders will do now that they can no longer endlessly claim to be victims of baseball. One championship can be a fluke, but two is a trend and it’s impossible not to look at Boston as the sport’s most powerful franchise. With A-Rod leaving the Yankees (note to A-Rod’s agent: That was some kind of boneheaded timing) on the heels of Joe Torre’s departure, there’s not much doubt any more about which franchise is on top of the heap.

OK, I was excited about the start of the World Series. I’d seen very little of the Rockies this year; no team going into the World Series has ever — ever — been this hot; and I liked the way Boston and Colorado matched up.

And then reality kicked in last night. Boston started with a leadoff home run and never let up, Colorado’s relief pitching fell apart and the Red Sox cruised in Fenway. It wasn’t just a one-sided win — it was the kind of win that can crush fragile souls.

Game 2 is tonight. The last few World Series have sucked as actual sporting events, with little drama or excitement. Really, there hasn’t been a memorable World Series now since 2001, when the D’backs went off the pre-ordained script and beat the Yankees in a thrilling final game. I want some drama and I want to see the real Rockies — the ones who crushed their National League competitors. Tonight may be the last chance for that.