Lindsey Proctor became Lindsey Hathcock on May 20, 2006. I'm still Brian Hathcock, unfortunately.

The wedding went by very quickly. I was nervous for none of it, which was surprising. I woke up that morning, got ready, and right away it seemed I was standing beside the minister watching my bride travel the isle. I repeated some things, lit a candle or something, and we were done. The reception had an even shorter lifespan, it seemed. We were introduced after a string of bridesmaids and groomsmen, ate, cake, done. The one constant was a Canon 20D in my face, which I quickly tired of. The photographer took so many pictures, that picture-taking is the main memory of the event. When I look at the pictures next week, all I'll be able to say for each is, "Hey, I remember posing for that picture."

OK, it wasn't that bad. It was a "very beautiful wedding," according to a buttload of women. It tasted good, I know that. There were shrimp, chocolate strawberries, and other "food" like that, but I had green beans and a pound of icing.

I think people had a good time. One thing I was disappointed about was the music. I spent at least a solid 20 hours working on gathering and arranging music for the reception. But a lot of it wasn't heard because the time ran short. I was aiming high, I guess, in assembling four hours of music. I danced, though, which I have never done in public. It was a big hit, I think. You might see a picture later on, but there is no video, thankfully.

As we exited the church, Lindsey and I grabbed handfuls of birdseed bundles to hurl at those assembled outside ready to pelt us. It was a spontaneous thing, and I think I hit someone in the face, which I didn't mind after the trouble I went to later in cleaning my car.

We left for Nags Head through a crowd of cheering people. Lindsey said the experience of driving away was surreal, and I guess I felt it a little, but for me it was pure excitement, relief, happiness.

Being completely alone for eight days of our honeymoon was wonderful. The house was great—far too large, but great. We spent lots of time on the beach, lounging in the house, and exploring the area.

We also saw some wonderful sunsets.

And sunrises.

After Nags Head we weren't ready to leave the ocean, so we made the long journey down to Myrtle Beach, SC. We stayed there another two days, hitting the hotspots we usually visit on our yearly summer trips there.

We reluctantly made our way home, dreading thank-you cards and work, but that dread was easily gulfed by our fun and anticipation. We stopped in Dillon, I bought a couple bags of fireworks, and we found our way to Albemarle in time to see X-Men 3 with Justin.

It's taken me a while to get this entry on the site because of married life business. There may be more pictures in a couple weeks, but I won't be writing much more about our wedding day. Friends and family, you can always read the wedding blog Lindsey and I kept from October 2005 until now, detailing some things about the wedding. There are a few more pictures here and those previous.

Life is fun right now. We have a lot of work ahead of us, but things will be great now that we don't have to worry about tuxedos or Jerry Falwell.

I meant to post this a few days ago. Lindsey's friend/roommate Emily (mentioned here) has an amazing great-grandmother. She was featured in a segment about her resturant Sunny Italy on UNC TV's North Carolina Weekend. You can view the episode here (click on the one for February 23, 2006). She's 96 years old and still running an Italian resturant in North Wilkesboro, NC. I became very interested after seeing the video, and found an article about Daisy and her restaurant (the second on the page, by Ken Welborn). I love things like this. I hope Lindsey and I can make it up there someday soon.

I say official because we've known for a long time that we're going to marry. I just needed to abide by proper protocol and buy a diamond.

I'm so romantic, I know.

Lindsey and I are simple people. By that, I mean we're down-to-earth and desperately unadorned. We get our kicks by walking in the woods, waiting for falling stars, and rolling pennies when the pickle jar fills.

No, really.

Anyway, Dan Daniel park in Virginia is a place at which we've stopped several times during our travels. It's very quaint, and quite unpopulated just after sunup. I decided to ask her to marry me in a little spot beside the river where we once had a mini-picnic.

We left very early this morning just so we could be in the park when it opened. After walking around for a while, talking and remembering, we made it to our little spot. After some lovey-dovey talk I bent down and asked, after which she went nuts and said some things in a foreign language, which she later told me was freaked-out girl talk for "OHMYGOSHOFCOURSEYESILOVEYOU."

We will be married in Virginia on May 20, 2006. You can come as long as you bring an expensive gift or, preferably, cash.

Mr. Tambourine Man caught my ear in some place at some time, neither of which I remember. Bob Dylan's songs have a way of doing that—replacing. He is something of an icon, and his songs deserve such attention. The songs and words of people like this man hold on to dignity that is tossed by so many others. I think that's why I always liked Bob Dylan. He made me think. He made me think about places and people in ways that I should. Sure, I love the occasional heavy metal ballad or a light-hearted beat from the 1980s. But songs such as Desolation Row, Forever Young, Masters of War, Shelter From the Storm, and so many others spike my brain and stir emotions. I don't mean to go overboard on the topic of Bob Dylan, but in terms of everything relative, his tunes deserve some recognition.

Back in October or November I saw that Bob would be around here in the spring and I was hoping that I could somehow manage to go. About a month ago I decided to grab this chance and see he and Willie Nelson as they made their rounds again this year with their ballpark tour. I've never been a very big fan of Willie Nelson's music, but I've always enjoyed his popular songs. This would be an opportunity to see a couple of music legends before it's too late (they're 64 and 72 as of now). So, on Sunday June 12 Lindsey and I were going to see Bob Dylan and Willie Nelson.

We arrived in Zebulon at around 4:15—a little over two hours before The Greencards were to begin the show. I like bluegrass, so I was looking forward to seeing them even though I'd not heard their music before. They played about seven songs and were on for 35 minutes. They were great; the crowd really got into them. I especially enjoyed this song, which sounded so much better in a live performance than the studio recording. Lindsey was really impressed with the violin player (she plays), as was I. I was happy to have a more-than-decent opening act.

After a lengthy delay, Willie Nelson finally made his way on stage. By this time, many of my fellow field dwellers were beginning to buzz (there was plenty of alcohol), and they went nuts when Willie walked out waving and pointing. He was very energetic, not like the average 72-year-old. He played several of his classic songs including On the Road Again, You Were Always on my Mind, and Mamas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Cowboys. At the end of his set he also sang Will The Circle Be Unbroken and I'll Fly Away, two old gospel songs. When I was a child I loved the Charley Pride rendition of I'll Fly Away, so that was a treat. Two of Willie's sons join him on this tour, one singing and playing the guitar with a good bit of talent.

After about 90 minutes, Willie and his group left the stage to a roar, and then things shifted. The high percentage of older folks dwindled. Soon I saw many more young faces joining us on the field. It was much more crowded for Bob's performance. After about 20 minutes his band took to their instruments, with Mr. Dylan making his way out last. His greeting was as would be expected. He began with Drifter's Escape and it escalated from there. Here's how the night went:

1. Drifter's Escape
2. Love Minus Zero/No Limit
3. God Knows
4. The Times They Are A-Changin'
5. Highway 61 Revisited
6. Tryin' To Get To Heaven
7. Tweedle Dee & Tweedle Dum
8. Blind Willie McTell
9. Stuck Inside of Mobile With The Memphis Blues Again
10. New Morning
11. Summer Days
    encore
12. Don't Think Twice, It's All Right
13. All Along The Watchtower

I only wish I could've seen him play guitar. I don't really feel anything was missing, though. It was great to see him singing and swaying, ripping on that harmonica like he does. If you know his music, but have never seen him live, there are big differences. Each song is a towering, jazzing monolith. I was 30 feet from the stage and the sound was great.

Despite the drunkards stumbling around and falling over their own cans, the entire experience was great. Lindsey was even offered a joint. Does that mean people think we're cool?

Leo Kottke is one of my favorite musicians. His talent is amazing. I was finally able to witness it in person this weekend, and it was awesome. He played at The Handlebar in Greenville, SC on Saturday night at 9 o'clock. It's a fairly small place—just a listening room with a bar/dining area attached. We arrived about ninety minutes before it was to begin in an attempt to snag decent seats. We did. We were on the end of the second row. Being such a small venue we merely had to write our names on any paper we could find and leave them in the seats we wished to reserve. Doing this, we went back to the bar area to get some pizza. After sitting there a while we realized what great timing had been exercised. Soon after we were settled in, people began to flood the entrance. It was a small flood, though. It only seats 500, which I liked. It felt very personal and I enjoyed it more than I would have if there had been thousands. We had found great spots—probably fifteen feet from him, or less. I was so excited.

He came on stage a couple minutes after nine. People started cheering, including me, and he went right to work. I've always known that he was an amazing guitar player, but you can't appreciated it fully until you actually see his fingers flying and plucking. He is incredible. He makes his twelve-string sound like three or four instruments at once. It isn't hard to believe that he would practice ten hours a day. He played between fifteen and twenty songs, telling funny, interesting stories between, and sometimes during. I sat in awe for ninety minutes.

After his encore, most of the audience left. Lindsey and I, along with maybe a dozen others, waited in hopes of his return. He did come back out finally, after a while, to pull his plugs from the stage. Several of us gathered in front of it, facing him. I realized that I would have time to go out to my car (we also had an excellent parking spot) to get the album I had brought along. I would get more than a handshake. When I came back with the record I was out of breath and walking quickly. He had just finished with everyone when I came up to him saying, "Will you do one more?" He had his cords bundled in his hands by this time, but a lady that works there was kind enough to take them from him so that he could generously oblige me. I handed him 6- and 12-String Guitar, one of his first and best records, along with a silver pen. Lindsey told him how great the show was, as did I. I thanked him, told him we drove three hours to see him. It was well worth it—certainly the best birthday present I've had in years, or possibly ever. Thank you, Lindsey.

All of the available downloads right now are some of Leo's songs, in case any would like to hear his work. You may also want to visit his Web site.

I'm asked about the lyrics in my info all the time. Here is the song. Right-click and choose 'Save Target As...' and you'll begin to download it. The quality isn't that great. It wasn't recorded very well, but it's still good enough. Here are the actual lyrics.

I wish I had a tiny island floating in the sea
Palm trees' sway don't get in the way, it's a tropical ease
And everywhere that I keep my silence, no sound returns to me
Just endless waves at the end of our days, the sighing of the seas

But yesterday's gone, I don't know where I come from, hmmm
Wonder where I'm going

The very last time that you saw me off I thought that it was understood
That I'd be gone for a very long time, I might be gone for good
And all that time, all the time, I thought you would never fall
It did not dawn across my mind the time that you lost it all

But yesterday's gone, I don't know where I come from, hmmm
Don't know where I'm going

Sometimes I feel like a tiny island floating in the sea
Palm trees' sway don't get in the way, it's a tropical ease
And everywhere that I keep my silence, no sound returns to me
Just endless waves at the end of our days, the sighing of the seas

But yesterday's gone, I don't know where I come from, hmmm
Wonder where I'm going

If you listen to the song, let me know what you think, even if you hate it. Comma.

I have a new e-mail address: brianhathcock @ Gmail.com. Gmail is wonderful.

It's still in the beta stage and you can only get an account if you're invited. Because it's still in the testing phase and hasn't been opened up to the masses yet, there are still many decent usernames left. I have a limited amount of invitations to hand out. If you want one, e-mail me. I think Gmail is going to squash Hotmail and Yahoo if they don't step it up a notch. Yahoo has already by increasing free storage to 100MB. Yet, that's only a fraction of the GB you get with Gmail, still for free. Plus, Gmail has better features. Blah blah, ramble.

Last night I dreamt that I met Don Knotts, told him how great he was, and then he signed one of my copies of The Catcher in the Rye. So it goes without saying that that was the best dream ever. Right.

Papa's birthday is Monday, so tonight we had a get-together in his honor. He loves to go to Rocky River Springs Fish House, so we met out there. I had a lot of fun. Just being around my cousins qualifies any event as worth while. It had been a long time since I visited the old place. I forgot how homey it is. A very nostalgic feeling comes over me whenever we gather to eat there. Upon entering you are greeted by ancient arcade machines and just as ancient Peppermint Patties. They're still 20¢ each. I always buy one. (That's my brother in the game picture.) A vital component of "Rocky River" lies within the same room. The egg dispensing Flintstones machine has been there at least a century, and I would bet my collection of Chiquita banana stickers it's actually approaching it's bicentenary. After swallowing your quarter, Fred spins and says, "Yabba-dabba-do! Yabba-dabba-do!" The egg then clinks for your attention, and Mr. Flintstone utters, "Dino thanks you!" It was the biggest thrill in the world to exchange our fathers' quarters for two or three cents worth of plastic. I guess the suspense of discovering what dwelled inside well made up for the rest.

Just about everyone was there. David and Myrtle were absent, but I'm glad my great-uncle James came. I don't get to see him as much as I'd like to. I also saw Carl, Doris, and Libby, a few of my grandpa's siblings. I had not seen Carl in a very long time, despite the fact that he lives less than a mile from where I'm sitting. Aunt Doris kept (and still keeps) children for a living, and I would stay there some times when I was young. So, I was glad to see her. Also, I finally got to see Jeremy again.

Oh, and I noticed this, thought it was worth sharing. This arcade game was dated as being created on 6/26/89, by the way. I'm insane for details.

This was done as a joke for a friend. I spent way too much time on it.

Christmas has always been fun for me, and it was again this year, too. It was great to gather as a family and remember times passed. A warm, happy feeling still swells inside of me when I see Christmas lights, hear Andy Williams, or see A Christmas Carol on television. It's my guess that I will probably forever have some sort of love for the Christmas season, but I must admit now that it's different.

I think most experience it—the excitement of Christmas fades as the years flip by. Or maybe it was a sudden change and Christmas is surprisingly not the same one year. This results from the loss of youth. As we come to know more, the excitement dwindles because it was based on hopes and dreams and wonders about something that was coming. This something was big and bright—everyone talked about it, it was all over the TV. You could almost literally feel Christmas coming. As you get older, though, you realize Santa Claus isn't who you thought he was; that men and their quest for control and profit have bought Christmas into their reins; and that everyone isn't as happy as you might be. By the last point I mean that one realizes that Christmas is isolated—10,000 children will still die in Africa on that day because they had nothing to eat or drink, were murdered, and/or had no heath care. When I was little it seemed like Christmas was everywhere. You know what I mean. Wal-Mart plays "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer," the mall invites Santa, the air waves overflow with holly jolly sounds. People seem happier. That's the way it is until you're a little older. Maybe you're sitting in the backseat of your parents' car as your family is driving home from an afternoon of shopping. As you wait for a light to turn green, you see a man in dirty clothes holding a sign. When you realize who that man is and why he's there, a little bit of that special something that makes up childhood is lost. Christmas was the red and green utopia of chocolate. But as you grow, mature, and lose pieces of your childhood, the idea of Christmas being a perfectly happy time slips away.

I still love Christmas time. I still look forward to the multi-colored lights blinking on houses. The music, movies, cartoon specials, food, and all that decked out jazz reclaims my youth each year. And I will always enjoy more than anything the community aspect of Christmas—people seem happier, and I see more of my family.

A major difference is that now I realize that not everyone is happy just because it's December, and even a lot of those who seem happy are so because of reasons other than my own. Some look forward to the presents, or time away from work, or a vacation far from home. The solution for me is to find the good in it, avoid or redress things I see as problems, and do my best to hold on to what's left of my childhood. I wish everyone would.

So instead of looking forward to December 25^th, I anxiously await the entire month. I don't roll around in my bed on Christmas Eve desperately watching for morning, when I can tear paper and bows—I do so because I will be able to again relive that special day of my youth by eating breakfast with family and remembering things I loved, like my grandmothers, playing video games with my cousins, and laughing and truly being happy.

I rekindled my love for The Beach Boys this summer. Let me tell you.

One of my first and most influential exposures to music was in fourth grade. I discovered how to use my dad's old 8-track player. He had a couple dozen cartridges, The Eagles, Bread, and The Allman Brothers Band among the most illustrious members of the collection. But what I liked most were The Beach Boys tapes. I grew up with annual beach trips, and it seemed that combined with an inexplicable innate connection to sand and surf to form a passion for the beach. When I heard "Surfin' USA" and "Catch a Wave," I was hooked. I'd never surfed in my life. Sure I lived beside a lake, but, heck, I couldn't even swim. I can't explain it, but some years, I think I looked forward with more anticipation and excitement to our beach trip than Christmas. That says a lot.

I began using my allowance to buy their tapes at K-Mart. I soon had a nice selection of mellow beach hymns and soothing love declarations. Every year when we loaded the car with chairs and suitcases I made sure to bring my growing collection of Beach Boys cassettes. I took pains to save the best for last. Hearing "I Get Around" or "Surfin' Safari" as we first caught glimpse of the glimmering ocean brought me near explosion with excitement.

I also owe The Beach Boys for helping to guide me into adolescence/puberty by introducing me to thoughts of love and girls, girls and love. "Don't Worry Baby" taught me about love; "Help me Rhonda" showed me the possible ugly side of relationships; and "California Girls" proved the most effective theory on the whole love concept.

Thank you, you marvelous, harmonious beach bums. Your voices will always spring great memories to my mind, and bring the warmth of the sun.