Shuffling to salvation

A few days ago I encountered jam session genius. It was a year ago when I noticed that a friend of mine who plays bass kept a set of drum brushes in his case. "You play drums?"
"A little. I just use these when I jam with other people."
"But what do you play on?"
"Anything. I just toss in a little shuffle sometimes."
A year later I was shopping for the glockenspiel mallets to make my little microphone for my Bob Barker Halloween costume, when I noticed a can full of drum brushes. I didn't even have to think about buying a pair. You see, as a lowly mandolin player without much time to practice, I often get a little left out. Part of the reason I got into bluegrass is because it's a lot like punk: learn three chords, start a band. Bluegrass typically flops tonally between major and minor - topically between going to the land of jubilee and dead girlfriends. As soon as a jam session gets into emotionally complicated, minor 7th territory, I usually end up heading to the kitchen to get beers and chop carrot sticks. Not anymore. At my most recent musical meetup, when the tune sheet started looking like a combination of poetry and calculus formulas, I just whipped out the brushes and started beatin' on a shoe box. All of a sudden I felt like I was backing up Lucinda Williams in Lake Charles, Louisiana. Just the right amount of a little boom chick, chugga-chugga. Granted, it only really sounds good with some kinds of music, mostly of the more twangy variety, but I'll take it. At least it makes me feel a little less like the kid who can't play street hockey because he doesn't have his own stick.