Highway 380, McKinney, 11:10 am
Posted by Mark David Manders Fri, 02 Jun 2006 11:10:00 GMT
We accumulate a lot of CD’s in our travels, some good and some not so good. Some are given to us by friends and others by bands and singer/songwriters we meet at shows. At least once a month we’ll get bored and throw in a new CD in the player to check it out. Since we rarely listen to the radio, this is our primary method of gauging what’s going on in the Texas music scene.
We have a system of grading new music. If we like the CD it will stay in rotation in the suburban. If it’s bad, we wait until we are on a lonely stretch of highway and throw it out the window and watch it skip down the road. In fifteen years I bet we have littered highways across the state of Texas with close to three hundred “skippers”. If the CD is ridiculously hideous, we will save it for special occasions, namely when a friend is riding with us in the burb. At an opportune moment we’ll insert the CD and act like we really enjoy the music. We’ll play it until either the friend busts out laughing or begs us to quit.
Right now we are listening to the second CD of the day. I won’t say who the artist is, but the music is not bad. The first CD, however, did not fare so well. Once again, I’m not going to drop any names, but I will say that whoever wrote, recorded, and sang on that disc needs to find a permanent day job. Russ and I are currently debating the fate of said CD. I want to skip it and Russ wants to save it as a torture CD. I’m probably going to wait until he falls asleep and let her fly.
Today’s destination is Amarillo where we’re opening for our friends, Copperhead, at the Midnight Rodeo. We’ll be traveling down the same road Lafon and I drove two days ago when we played an acoustic show in Wichita Falls. The routing didn’t work out quite like I had planned, but that happens every now and then.
So here’s a recap of the week thus far beginning with Memorial Day. I spent most of Monday morning hanging out with Shawn in the garage. We amused ourselves by watching a mud dobber who had made his nest in an empty cable receptacle in the wall. Shawn thought it would be funny to put clear packaging tape over the hole; I thought it was funny watching him. The mud dobber was not at all amused and spent the better part of an hour trying to enter his nest. Finally, Shawn removed the tape and the mud dobber flew inside his nest. Shawn then quickly reapplied the tape and solved our mud dobber problem once and for all. It’s amazing when I think of how easily we are sometimes entertained.
Around noon, Kathryn told us that we had better get the garage cleaned if we wanted to cook out that afternoon. We agreed and began picking up the trash from the night before. There were several beer cans on the counter and in the trash can and I realized that no one was using the can crusher I had mounted by the door leading to the house. So I decided to move the can crusher to the outside wall of the garage just above the large recycling bin.
While drilling into the brick mortar, Kathryn appeared and said, “Mark, don’t you think that looks kind of white trashy?” Shawn replied with the quote of the week, “Don’t worry, Kathryn, the trailer will hide it.”
I guess this would be a good time for me to mention my relationship with our homeowners association. You see, they have bylaws upon bylaws of dos and don’ts, all intended to keep the image of our subdivision on the up and up. In theory this is a good idea; in practice it sucks. Our homeowners association, or the house Nazis, as we call them, routinely survey the neighborhood and assess fines to those who are not in compliance with their codes. I, of course, fall into this category because I keep my equipment trailer parked in my driveway.
Don’t ask me why, but for some reason it is illegal to park a trailer of any kind in the driveway, even though the driveway is in the back of the house, hidden from view of the street. It is acceptable, however, to leave a trailer attached to a vehicle in front of the house, provided it is moved every twenty-four hours. It makes no sense to me, but I can tell you that Kathryn and I have been fined on numerous occasions. It’s funny, the house Nazis spend all their time fining homeowners, yet, for seven years they have never repaired the waterfalls at the community pool.
Sorry, I got on my soapbox again. So anyway, I spent the rest of Memorial Day cooking fajitas with the neighbors. We also took some action shots of Peccho Baludo and Pecchito, which can be seen in the previous “News from the Road” entry.
Tuesday was a hectic day. I worked on booking in between taking care of our kids as well as half of the neighborhood children. The boys had a baseball game that night. They lost, but James and Justin had base hits each time they went to bat. Two of their friends spent the night with us after the game.
Wednesday morning I fed all five children and sent them outside to play and I actually got a little work done in between the interruptions. At three o’clock, having fulfilled my end of the kid swap, I sent my children home with the other two boys. Lafon showed up an hour later and we hit the road for Wichita Falls.
Fonzie and I ran into a pretty good storm just south of Bowie, but we still managed to make it to the club on time for sound check. The venue is called “Stage West” and it was our first time to play there. Sound check went smoothly and at eight o’clock we left to check into our hotel.
Along the way I saw the sign for a palm reader and asked Fonzie if he wanted to try a reading. He said, “No, but I’m sure Peccho Baludo would like to have his fortune told.” I immediately turned around and drove to the palm reader’s house.
A Hispanic man greeted me at the door and asked if I wanted my palm read. I told him about Peccho Baludo and he got a frightened look in his eyes. His wife, the psychic, approached the door next. She too seemed a little apprehensive, but we finally persuaded her to read for Peccho.
Unfortunately, Peccho has no palms and the lady was forced to rely solely on the tarot cards and her crystal ball. She told Peccho that his life was in danger and that he shouldn’t trust those close to him, especially musicians. She went on to say that, if he could survive the next three months on the road, that his love life would improve. (I tried to get the psychic to pose for a picture with Peccho, but she politely refused. She did, however, let us film Peccho at her table and her husband even lit special candles for the snapshot.)
Afterwards we went to the hotel to get ready for the show. Peccho, who never talks much anyway, was even quieter than ever. Back at the club he sat alone in the corner and nursed several shots of tequila.
Lafon and I had fun at Stage West that night. Mark played a classical guitar during the first set, switching to electric later in the evening. He clearly stole the show and gained several new fans. Woody, the promoter, was a pleasure to work with and asked us to come back. We will, Woody.
Yesterday Mark and I stopped by the Sunset Bar and Grill in Denton to eat lunch on our way home. I think it was around 3:00 by the time I finally pulled into my driveway. The kids had spent the night at my mom’s, so I had the house to myself.
Last night I watched the Mavericks game with my neighbors in the garage. I was worn out from the night before and went to bed as soon as the game was over. I slept the best I have in months and woke up early this morning.
Right now we are west of Wichita Falls on Highway 287. Grant is making good time and we should be in Amarillo around 5:00.
