Posted by Mark David Manders
Tue, 27 Feb 2007 06:10:00 GMT
She said, “Someone call the doctor, I think I’m gonna crash”
He said, “Doctor says he’s coming, but you gotta pay in cash.”
I went to the doctor yesterday afternoon for a sore throat and congestion. Now I don’t normally go to the doctor unless I’m feeling puny. I have several friends who are doctors and most of the time I can talk to them and they’ll call in a prescription for me. But yesterday was different; my throat felt like razor blades and every time I coughed I doubled over in pain.
You know, it’s funny; men are a proud breed. As head of the family they carry with them an aura of invincibility, a false belief that they are indestructible. (In my line of work I call that believing a little too much in your own press kit.) But as soon as a man gets sick, what does he do? He goes running to his wife like a lost child, looking for sympathy and advice.
Now I’m not saying I went crying to Kathryn yesterday, I mean not exactly, but I did inform her of my condition in passing over the phone. After the third or forth time I mentioned my sore throat she finally said, “Alright, I’ll check with our insurance and find a doctor in the area.” I don’t know why, but a husband always leaves it up to the wife to schedule a doctor’s appointment. He’ll never do it himself; it’s as taboo as asking for directions. And no matter where or what time he has to be there he’ll find a way to bitch about it.
My appointment was set for four o’clock and I was told to be there fifteen minutes early to fill out the necessary paperwork. The kids got home from school a little after three. Jessica went over to a friend’s house, so I loaded up the boys and drove to the doctor’s office over by the Plano Medical Center. Of course, along the way I had to call Kathryn and complain about how long of a drive it was.
Once inside the doctor’s office I filled out the paperwork. I wrote my name down twelve different times, my date of birth ten, my social security number eight, and my home phone a whopping fifteen times. It wasn’t until page four that I began to write “same” in every line. I wish I would have thought of that earlier; it would have saved a lot of time.
At 4:30 my name was called and a middle-aged nurse led the boys and I back to a private waiting room. I would equate this to someone in a holding tank in county jail being given his own cell- you might be gaining a little privacy, but you’re still not going anywhere until you se the judge.
At 5:00 the nurse came in and took my vital signs. At 5:15 James said he had to go to the bathroom. When he returned Justin said he had to go. At 5:20 I decided I had to go. At 5:25 I finally walked down to the nurses’ station and asked how much longer we had to wait. She replied in a distinctive East- Texas drawl, “Well, honey, the doctor is running a little late.” I informed her that the boys had baseball practice at 6:00 and I didn’t know when my daughter was going to be dropped off at the house and that I really needed to get going. She nodded her head and mumbled something. I took it as an East Texas brush off (cedar, of course).
At 5:30 Doctor Chen entered the room. He examined me for about five minutes and then began to write prescriptions. I had a script for congestion, a script for my sore throat, and even a script for Chantix to help me quit smoking. He then gave a few samples of a cough suppressant tablet and a prescription for more if I needed them later on. I asked him if he could just give me a quick shot of penicillin. He replied that he could but then he’d have to keep me for another twenty minutes to make sure that I didn’t have an allergic reaction. I opted instead for the “Mega Z-Pac One-time Liquid Suspension” dose available at Walgreens.
After waiting an hour and forty-five minutes to see the “judge”, my fine was assessed in less than five minutes. All I had to do now was see the county clerk and pay court costs and then off to Walgreens to pay the fine itself. My court costs came to forty-seven bucks and change. That was my portion of the 33 % co-pay; insurance picked up the rest. I gave her forty-eight in cash. She didn’t have change; I didn’t care. My fine- $156.71 at Walgreens. Blue Cross and Blueshield covered everything except the Chantix to help me quit smoking. Guess they wanted to try and keep me as a customer for years to come.
The boys and I arrived home just as Jessica’s friend’s mother was dropping her off. The boys had missed their ride to baseball practice, so I sent them into the house for their gloves and off we went to Frisco. I ran by the McDonalds on my way and grabbed the kids whatever they wanted off the dollar menu so they wouldn’t get hungry.
When I got back home I crawled into bed and tried to take a little nap. Kathryn showed up shortly thereafter. She asked if there was anything I needed and I said, “Sleep”.
I did, on and off until now. It’s 5:00 and I just got up. I went and got Kathryn from James’s bed and brought her back to our room. She said my snoring had kept her up last night. In another hour the alarm clock will ring and she’ll get up for work. I’ll probably try to get in another nap before we leave for College Station this afternoon. She won’t have that luxury, but she never complains.
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Posted by Mark David Manders
Mon, 26 Feb 2007 12:15:00 GMT
Well, it happened again. I got too busy and missed another week of “News from the Road”. Sometimes there’s just not enough time in the day to sit back and reflect on the events of the previous weekend. To be honest with you, if I didn’t have my trusty digital camera I would have a hard time remembering what we did each week.
So here’s what I can remember from the road trip before this last weekend. We played Love in War in Texas on a cold Friday, the Wolf Mardi Gras on an even colder Saturday evening, and Gilley’s later that same night. After returning from a chilly New Orleans the day before, last thing I wanted to do was see more cold weather when I got home. Anyway, we survived, well everyone except for Russ who had a few balance issues after the Gilley’s gig. I’ll just let the pictures do the talking.
OK, on to this last weekend. We left Thursday afternoon for San Angelo and the weather was finally warm. Mike Boyd, guitar player from Vince Vance and the Valliants, joined us on the three-day run to give us that twin guitar sound. I’m not sure if he knew exactly what he was getting into, but he had played Blaine’s Pub before and I think he had an idea of what to expect.
We arrived in Angelo around five o’clock for sound check. At seven, BJ, a Pike from ASU, picked Lafon and I up and took us over to campus where we played a memorial service for two fraternity members who had been killed in a car wreck back in January. It was a somber experience, but I was impressed by the fact that every fraternity and sorority on campus was represented. We played for about an hour and then BJ took us back to the hotel to get ready for the show that night.
The rodeo was going on in Angelo last weekend, so we knew that at least one night we’d get the rowdy crowd. Thursday was actually not too bad. In fact, it was a little slow compared to a normal night at Blaine’s. I guess everyone was worn out from the rodeo because I heard that most of the bars in town were dead. For the first time in years I could actually make it from the stage to the bathroom during our break without getting lost in a sea of people.
Friday was a busy day. Kathryn and I got up around ten and went down to the YMCA and worked out. Afterwards we stopped by Armento’s for lunch. Then I was off to Ashley’s Barber Shop for my haircut appointment with Mary Anne. I took Mike with me and we met up with Barry and Dee at the barber shop around two. My buddy, Mike Minton, showed up a little later and we had a few shots with Mary Anne before her next appointment.
After my haircut I headed back to the HoJo to see if anyone wanted to go by the Pi Kappa Alpha lodge with me for a beer. Russ and Kathryn agreed and we loaded up into Barry and Dee’s urban assault vehicle, leaving the suburban for the rest of the band to go get something to eat.
Russ and I hadn’t been back to the Pike lodge since we had played there back in ’94, but it still looked the same. (Well, they did patch the holes in the sheetrock in the bathroom since the last time we were there.) We met with all the actives as well as a few pledges who were freshly pinned the week before. I had a little fun with them teaching them all the words I could remember to the song, “Fifty Naked Thetas” and they in turn taught me a few new songs. Of course, none of the lyrics to any of the songs can be repeated here.
After a few beers we took off for the rodeo where we met up with Fred, Ruben, and all the volunteers working the hospitality area. They treated us to catfish and hush puppies, as well as a few interesting drinks. I knew it was getting late, so we said goodbye and returned to the hotel so I could squeeze in a little nap before the show that evening.
You know, you would think that when a band has two shows in the same town they would have a considerable amount of down-time to relax, but such is not the case in San Angelo. I think playing the actual show is much easier than trying to get around and see all our friends. Needless to say, I had no problem falling asleep once we returned to the Howard Johnson’s. I think I managed to get in a solid hour of shut-eye before the band woke me up.
Blaine’s was packed on Friday night; it was one-in, one-out by ten o’clock and didn’t let up until the bar closed. There were people dancing on the tables and a line out the door that stretched down the street. Everyone got along and to my knowledge no fights broke out.
We got back to the hotel late that night and I had planned on sleeping late the next morning before our drive to Haskell. However, around nine-thirty Mike Minton showed up with Tammy and got Kathryn and I up for breakfast. We ate down at the hotel restaurant where the normally mean waitress was actually fairly cordial that day. I had the rib eye and eggs special and it was unbelievable.
After breakfast we walked outside to say goodbye to Mike and Tammy and noticed that a dust storm was coming in. Tammy said, “Oh great, it looks like Midland is blowing into town!” Now I don’t know if you’ve ever experienced a West Texas dust storm, but they can be brutal.
Kathryn and I had problems getting the band up Saturday morning so we decided to go to Blaine’s for a drink while they shook out the cobwebs. Barry and Dee met us there and pretty soon the regulars came in. Kathryn took the trailer back to the hotel around one and picked up the band and they joined us for a few drinks before we left for Haskell.
We decided to take a little detour to Lowake (pronounced Low-way-kee) to have a steak at the famous Lowake Steakhouse. The drive was difficult, forty mile-an-hour winds with gusts up to sixty and almost no visibility. We made it to the steakhouse around three-thirty and enjoyed an incredible dinner before heading north to Haskell. Barry later told me that along the way there were times when the suburban actually vanished from view ahead of him into a haze of dust.
We made it to Haskell a little after seven Saturday evening. We were scheduled to begin the show at eight, but Cary Epley, who booked us for the party, said to take our time loading in.
The party was held at the Haskell Civic Center and we played on the auditorium stage to a crowd of locals, many of whom we had met last year when we played Judfest. The get-together was actually a thirtieth birthday party for twin girls and before the night was over they joined us on stage. They attempted to play my guitar and Bret’s drums. It was pretty, but it was very entertaining.
We had planned on playing until midnight Saturday, but the party kept going. Six and a half hours after we began, we finally called it a night. We spent the next hour trying to find the cabins they had put us up in and finally, around four, we succeeded in locating our accommodations.
Sunday morning came early. I knew we had to check out before noon and, believe it or not, we actually did get on the road around twelve-thirty. We followed Barry and Dee east down Highway 380 toward Denton and stopped in Newcastle for lunch at a place called the Hole in the Wall.
I knew we were in for a treat as we walked across the parking lot. The roof of the restaurant had a single exhaust vent coming out the top and both sides were stained with grease. There was actually a gutter below the grease flow that directed the oily substance into a downspout and which emptied into a plastic bucket on the ground beside the building.
The Hole in the Wall was crowded when we entered. On the wall were hundreds of photos of dead animals- deer, hogs, turkey, etc. I ran into a friend from San Angelo who had just come from hog hunting the night before and he suggested trying the “Hog Burger”, so I decided to take his advice. Lafon and Barry did the same.
I have never seen a burger that big in my life! It had two half-pound hamburger patties with a slab of ham in between and bacon on top. It was all I could do to eat half of it. Even the regular hamburgers were so large that no one finished their meal. Not only was the food great, the owner and wait staff were friendly and the meal was affordable, very affordable. After lunch we hit the road for Dallas, vowing that we would return to the Hole in the Wall any time we were in the area.
It was about a three-hour trip from Newcastle to the metroplex. Somewhere west of Denton I hit a brick wall (not literally). My eyes grew heavy and I realized that it was going to take all I had to make it home without falling asleep. We made it home, but man, was I exhausted. I’ve got tonight off, but tomorrow Mark and I leave for College Station for an acoustic show. No rest for the weary!
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Posted by Mark David Manders
Mon, 19 Feb 2007 12:18:00 GMT
It took a lot of convincing, but Jim finally got me to agree to go with him on the Big Karma Race for the Cure Mardi Gras Marathon. That was three weeks ago. The problem wasn’t going to New Orleans; it was the dates we would be gone. It just so happened that Valentine’s Day fell right in the middle of our three-day trip. Fortunately Kathryn was understanding and gave me the green light.
We left Dallas last week on Tuesday and flew to New Orleans, arriving around three o’clock in the afternoon. We caught a cab from the airport and checked into our rooms at the Windham Hotel, overlooking Riverfront Park on the banks of the Mississippi River. The weather was perfect- a balmy seventy-five degrees and sunny.
After a quick shower I headed down to the hotel bar and met up with Jim for a few drinks. Soon the other members of our krewe began to trickle in and one by one I was introduced to the people we would spend the next two and a half days with.
At seven our group walked through the Quarters to the Louis XVI restaurant in the Saint Louis Hotel on Rue Bienville for dinner. After a five-star meal we headed out to see the sights.
The plan was to meet at Pat O’Brien’s for hurricanes but Jim and I never made. On our way we heard some interesting music coming from a little bar and stopped in to listen. Four hours and several bars later we were no closer to Pat O’Brien’s than when we left. We were treated to every kind of music New Orleans has to offer: blues, Southern rock, zydeco, country, and jazz.
Somewhere in between dinner and music the temperature in the Big Easy dropped severely; I’m talking forty degrees. Of course, I was not prepared for it and by the time we got back to our hotel I was chilled to the bone.
Wednesday morning I got up and decided that I’d better get out and buy some warmer clothing. I took off around ten and braved the thirty-mile an hour north wind for a mile-long walk down to Cafe Due Monde for some coffee and beignets. On my way back I stopped at one of the many souvenir shops along Decatur Street and bought a hooded warm-up suit. I thought I was ready to battle the elements… man, was I wrong.
For lunch our krewe met at Bubba Gump’s, also on Decatur Street. Bubba Gump’s is apparently the traditional lunch spot for our krewe and the waiter recognized Vincent, our krewe chief, when we arrived. After Bloody Mary’s and appetizers the restaurant staff entertained us with the Forrest Gump trivia quiz and handed out prizes for correct answers. Jim and I each won pencils. His said, “Life is a box of chocolates” and mine said, “Stupid is as stupid does.”
After lunch it was back to the hotel to get ready. The bus was scheduled to pick us up at three, so I took the extra down time to hop in the shower and try to warm up before the parade that evening. Our parade route was through the Metairie and to be honest with you I don’t know what our krewe name was. All I was told was that it was to be circus theme.
The bus left the hotel that afternoon and made a slight detour to Vincent’s house where we loaded up cases upon cases of beer. We then toured a part of the city where the levees had broken when Katrina hit. It was a surreal experience, blocks and blocks of vacant houses, many still showing stains on the front door where the water had risen before receding. There were numbers painted on the fronts of houses from the disaster indicating how many bodies were inside and how many pets were missing. Some of the houses had spray-painted messages across their facades expressing dissatisfaction with FEMA. A few houses had signs like, “We will rebuild”, but they were outnumbered by the For Sales signs. We even came across a thirty-foot boat washed up and still stranded in the middle of a residential street. I can’t tell you how widespread the devastation was.
We arrived at the float several hours before our scheduled departure in order to hang our beads and prepare for the parade. The wind was still howling out of the north and the temperature had dropped into the thirties again. I was talking to one of the tractor operators who pulled the floats and he said that this was the coldest Mardi Gras weather he’d seen in fifty years.
Fortunately, there was a Sears close by and I went inside with Michael, one of my new friends, in search of gloves, scarves, or anything else that might help ward off the cold. I was really hoping to find some battery-operated socks, but to my chagrin all I found was a pair of leather work gloves. When we got back to our float I found a bottle of tequila. Even that was not enough to warm me up, so I made my way back to the bus for shelter before the parade got under way.
The parade began just as the sun was going down. Jim and I had a spot on the upper deck with a few people from our group and around ten plumbers from another group. Our costume was some kind of red clown shirt which barely fit over the coats we were wearing. It was cumbersome, but once we started throwing beads I soon forgot that I was bundled up like an Eskimo. In fact, I soon forgot about the cold altogether.
The parade lasted just shy of three hours. Jim said there were about a third of the people who normally attend, but it was crowded just the same. It was relatively calm, too. No one bared their breasts; it would have required shedding too many clothes.
After the Metairie parade the bus took our krewe back to the Windham. A group of us decided to head over to Harrah’s and try our luck gamb ling. I got lost from my party but found a welcome seat at the roulette table. I had planned on throwing out fifty dollars and leaving once I lost it. Some time around five Jim showed up and said weÃd better get back and get a little sleep before our flight the next day. I left the table with a much heavier wallet than when I arrived. God, I love roulette!
Thursday morning came way too early. Jim and I checked out and made our way back to the airport for our return flight back to Dallas. Our flight was delayed, but we made the best of it, arriving at Love Field around seven o’clock. I caught a taxi home and Jim took his car on the two-hour drive back to the Big Karma complex in Paris. The weather in Dallas was just as I left it- cloudy and cold, bitter cold.
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Posted by Mark David Manders
Sun, 04 Feb 2007 11:30:00 GMT
My earliest recollection of a Knights of Columbus hall is back when I was probably seven or eight years old. All I remember was a dark, cavernous room, a long table crowded with casserole dishes and vegetables, a priest in a funny shaped hat, and beer, lots of beer. If memory serves me right the KC hall was located off of Northwest Highway near Flag Pole Hill in Lake Highlands. I don’t remember why our family was there, but I would guess that it was either a fundraiser for our church or a wedding reception.
Apparently not much has changed since I was a kid, at least as far as KC halls go. When we arrived at the Gainesville Knights of Columbus Friday night I walked in the back door by the stage and I felt as if I had stepped back in time thirty years. There was a large dance floor in front of the stage, a bar at the other end of the room, and the smell of home-cooking everywhere.
Food, however, was not an immediate concern for me at that point. When Patsy Henry asked me a few weeks earlier to play a benefit for Saint Mary’s Catholic school she said she wanted to have us over for dinner before the show. She said, “Don’t bother with the food at the KC Hall. I want to cook chicken fried steak for the entire band.”
So who’s Patsy Henry? It’s kind of a long story, but I met her through her son, Brian, last spring. Brian asked if I would sing a song for his brother’s wedding reception and it just so happened that we were playing nearby on that day. When Patsy arrived, fresh from the wedding, she gave me a huge hug and kissed me on the cheek as if I were one of her own kids. From that point on I started calling her by her nickname, “Mama Henry”. I have been in love with her ever since.
After we loaded in Friday night Brian showed up and drove us all over to his parent’s house. There was an ice chest full of beer on the front porch and Mama Henry was fast at work in the kitchen. She had enough chicken fried steak to feed an army and all the fixins, including gumbo. We all sat down and ate until we couldn’t eat any more.
After dinner we loaded up and headed over to the Knights of Columbus Hall for the show. There were a few bands playing before us so I made my rounds meeting people. I ran into a few folks I had met before, including Luana Wiesan from the Gainesville Sheriff’s Department. I was awkwardly introduced to Luana while playing an outdoor show last April. I won’t go into the details but I will offer up a little advice to festival goers: when hanging out backstage always use the Port-a-potty, you never know who is in the camper next to you.
At one point before the show Mama Henry grabbed me by the arm and took me to meet Father Murphy, who runs Saint Mary’s. A large, stocky man, Father Murphy looked more like a football coach than a priest. At one point during our conversation he actually let a cuss word slip out, giving me a whole new meaning to the phase, “Holy Shit!” Father Murphy explained that he had spent twenty years teaching at a boy’s school on the south side of Chicago and tough talk was one of the few ways he could communicate with the troubled kids. I had a long talk with the Father and afterwards he even blessed my guitar. I played the show that night without breaking a single string.
We took the stage somewhere around ten o’clock. The crowd was a mix of old and young, but my attention was focused on two little, old ladies who danced to every song we played. It reminded me of the American Legion Hall I used to sneak into as a kid. At one point toward the end of the night the younger party-goers let loose. I forget which song we were playing, but you couldn’t fit another person on stage with us. I’m not sure how long we played, but everyone there that night, including us, had a blast.
After the show we said goodbye to our friends, old and new, and started down that long road home.
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