Take that, money.

Went to old market square yesterday, what a square it was.

I traveled about the entire place with my father, gathering items of interest and jollity. Our first destination was the folk festival store. Both of us were far over due for picking up festival tickets, which actually start costing more money next month. Unfortunately, when your hanging out in perhaps the most cultured section of our city, "more money" is exactly what ends up being spent. Both the folk festival store and its friendly neighbor, into the music, harbor obtuse quantity's of rare musical listening. Dad picked up some obscure sixty's folk bands CD and a rare Tom Waits disc. I myself had decided to direct my spendings in other direction:
I got me a sort of folk song fake book. The thing is encompassed with over one thousand of the most ancient and traditional of tunes. I am especially looking forward to learning all the Scottish drinking ballads. My friends will be sure to hate me once the frequent camp fire season comes along.

Item number 2: A print of an old experience gig poster from 67. I needed one more poster for my wall of madness and the purple yellow reeked of sexy.

After drinking some strangely delicious lemon beer which was actually strangely delicious, we went to toad hall to fool around with strange child nick nacks. I came close to buying a skipping rope that splurged out haunting tones when spun but decided: No.

That is all.