Okay, so Tommy Emmanuel wants socks. I got black and white wool for some sort of musical theme (I'm thinking staff and notes or some such), and red for an accent. The actual design is eluding me at the moment. Random note-shapes scattered on a solid background? Bands of pattern with his name or whatever? Whatever the result, it must be cool. One cannot present cheesy, second-rate socks to one who is admired. Well, one could, but one would be sorely tempted to kick oneself for many weeks after.
Himself was musing earlier, "What were we doing at this time last week?" Most likely, the correct answer is this: he was jamming, I was sacked out in the camper. I tend to become unconscious after extended periods without sleep, and Winfield offers many such occasions. The nice part about spending lots of time dozing is the fact that your brain will often toss out random sound bites from the past few days. Here are some examples.
"I'm such a squirrel, I always obey it."
"Next year, I'm getting a catheter put in before I come down here."
"They just cleaned the Porta-Potties; watch out you don't get Smurf butt!"
"I-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-ce!"
"Bring out your dead!"
"Chasin' shade again."
"Whaddaya mean, you're out of picks?"
"We're camped under the banner with the cross-eyed monkey."
And our personal favorite, from the fellow who was berated for banging away on his dobro at six in the morning: "It's BLUEGRASS, duuuuuude!"
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