Record Scratch Sky

6 Dec
Record Scratch Sky

I took this somewhere outside El Paso. The clouds looked like record grooves to me. There’s a great DJ in the sky, apparently.

This weekend was good…we went to San Angelo (see previous LOCKED IN THE BATHROOM post), Lubbock, and Amarillo.

I commented to Susan that we are usually either coordinating a stunning execution of pull up to the gig/load in gear/change clothes/sound check/walk dogs/set up merch in a record 7 minutes and 46 seconds, or we have hours to kill for well, hours. (We are actually ALWAYS punctual and early, but our degrees of early change and make for less hectic load ins sometimes). In Lubbock we had hours to kill, which was nice. I laptopped at the venue, we walked the dogs around the venue neighborhood which happened to contain a mall. It’s good we had stuff to do or I would have dropped my paycheck on crap at Dillards out of boredom. I work like that sometimes.

The Amarillo show was great as usual, as Susan has a crack team of musicians up there and they do a great band show. The drive home from Amarillo yesterday was long, though I killed maybe the first 3 hours reading out loud from the New Yorker (my favorite magazine because it’s interesting and it costs $6 but it takes me like 5 hours to read, so that’s cheap entertainment, and then I get to say things like “I read in The New Yorker…”).

It was the Thanksgiving food issue, so I informed Susan and the dogs about such things like making borscht, pickled cabbage, a roadhouse in New Orleans that hasn’t changed since 1962 or something like that, and gastropubs in NYC. After a while my throat got scratchy and now I have a lot more respect for talk show hosts, because I was not cut out to talk for 3 hours straight. However, I will train so that I can do it more, because I like reading and Susan likes books on tape, which I am almost akin to except she doesn’t have to change the disc every 60 minutes.

We had a headlight out, and we got pulled over twice by very nice officers who informed us of such fact. We also needed to decide where to eat dinner.

“Where do you want to eat?”
“I don’t care.”
“Oh, we’re being pulled over. I’ll pull into this Dairy Queen.”
(Nice officer interlude).
…”Wanna eat at Dairy Queen?”

Sometimes these things just get decided for us, which I prefer to making decisions sometimes. While in line at the DQ, Susan decided that in the future, she will refuse me my per diem on food unless I order things in my old man New Yorker accent. I will either starve or get over my fear of public humiliation in fast food restaurants. Updates forthcoming. I told her I would start by being British, though, and work my way up to old man.

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