i’m going to jackson

rainy day, dream away …

some good gigging recently. lady of the barge had our virgin gig on thursday at chelsea’s. mellow crowd on a weeknight, but we played pretty well considering we’d only been practicing for a few weeks. eight tunes. felt good. onward and upward.

the flatbed honeymoon set went well after, although i was deep into the stellas at that point, and playing two gigs a night is always exhausting. after that first set, you just want to kick back. i would have loved to have been able to just watch flatbed’s set, you know? but it was cool, and tommy and sarah came by after and we wound the night down late laughing and listening to records and catching up on the exciting baton rouge social scene … … … i’m sorry, did i doze off?

friday, however, kinda sucked. flatbed had a gig in jackson. that’s jackson, louisiana, not the johnny cash jackson. we had to be there at five as it was a wedding, so … i slept like shit. woke up, had to get to highland coffee for a meeting with brooke. brooke was on fire, throwing around great idea after great idea for this paper we’re working on. i was equipped to do little more than take notes. we finished at 3:30 and i still had to go get the dog and drop him off at eli’s place. because i struggle to care for myself some days, i had yet to eat and was starving, hung over, late, and overall extremely irritable.

enter friday baton rouge traffic.

it’s not l.a., but the traffic down here is still terrible at times and something about the southern slowness seems to make it even worse. in l.a. at least people attack the traffic. they push the boundaries. run red lights. get shit done. down here, they can’t get out of their own way half the time. i find myself screaming, “GO! GO! GO! YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE! GO!” a lot on fridays down here. so it took me a while to get to eli’s. 4:30 by the time i left. still haven’t eaten. still have to get to jackson.

i decide to try to go to chicken shack on the way out of town. bad idea. i walk in, see the line, stand in it for about three seconds, throw up my hands and decide to hit the church’s fried chicken next store. worse idea. i don’t know, man. the fried chicken chains down here … they’re the slowest moving, most fucked up establishments (barely) functioning on god’s earth. i sat in the drive thru line for probably twenty minutes behind one car. nothing happened. nothing, no one, no food came out, no talking, nothing. schmitt called and said, “where are you?” i said, “getting on the freeway” as i escaped the line and raced down florida boulevard.

back in traffic now … in the rain … starving, cranky, later than late. i pass a popeye’s. now of all the southern fried chicken chains, popeye’s stands alone in terms of being slow and eternally fucked up. but i had to eat something or i was going to lose my shit. so i pull in and order. and despite the fact that the customer in front of me and the drive thru attendant had about a six minute conversation after their transaction was completed (i watched it all … they just … talked. chatted. for several minutes. unbelievable …) i did get my food in a (relatively) reasonable amount of time. of course the order was completely fucked up. that’s a given. i ordered a four piece chicken tenders and got two piece dark. thanks, popeye’s. go fuck yourself. i’ll be back.

once at the gig things warmd up. good seeing jimmy and denise and schmitt, and schmitt was in rare form. he set me straight. love that fucking guy.

a funny little note from the gig …

we’re waiting to go on and there are all these family people milling around. schmitt goes, “there’s actually a famous cnn newsperson here tonight.” i said, “shit, i hope it’s campbell brown, i have a huge crush on her.” schmitt says, “yeah, she’s the one! she’s right over there.”

no shit. partying with campbell brown. didn’t get a chance to talk to her, which was a bummer because i was going to ask her what the fucking deal is with lou dobbs.

we played a great set to a largely uninterested audience, got paid, and got out. the band actually got put up in this a.m.a.z.i.n.g. old plantation home, but i had to get back and get the dog. the place was chuck full of crazy beautiful antiques from around the world. supposedly the king of spain’s old bed (with linens) was in there somewhere. here’s some shitty iphone photos:

this is not the king of spain’s bed. but it could be.

both of these were shot to hell. but they looked cool.

this thing fascinated me. some kind of clock or timer? it had gears and 60 second and/or minute dials. some kind of moving contraption at the bottom, too.

this clock had amazing wood inlay in it. amazing. the ole iphone doesn’t do it justice.

posh.

clocks.

some old writing implement. marble. heavy. tits.

anyway, the place was fantastic. worth another trip someday.

i spent yesterday in a state of continual pajamas. couldn’t leave the house. didn’t want to socialize. watched several episodes of lost. damn that show. fucking completely stupid worthless can’t stop watching television.

some random phone shots.

in honor of the new los duggans cd i received in the mail yesterday (thanks, whiskey).