Estoy Nueces

I had a boring meeting to attend yesterday morning. I didn't anticipate it would be boring, but it turned out that way with no real morale building or motivation provided, which is what I was seeking. Just another opportunity to view an ass I work with in his glory.

I broadcast from the RV show. I wish I had had more time to wander around and see what was going on at the RV show. I have fallen in love with a little trailer that I haven't even seen in person yet. I don't know why I want one. I've never camped in my life and probaby don't want to start now.

Debated and debated yesterday whether to go to Gruene Hall to see Jack Ingram last night. Didn't really want to make the drive or go alone or go with someone or go home. You can see the dilemma. I finally decided I would regret it more if I didn't go than if I did, so I went and really enjoyed the show despite the talkiness of the Gruene patrons. I just don't get why anyone goes out and forks over $15 to visit with their friends and play pool when you can do that somewhere for free and not totally fuck up everyone else's enjoyment of a show. Jack was gracious and let the audience ask for quiet. He unplugged at one point and talked and sang from the front of the stage which was incredibly hard to hear and did make the audience listen intently. Smart move, it quieted things down some when he plugged in again.

I also wonder about what intention some people have when they go out. I don't know that I've ever gone out with the intention of getting drunk. Sure, it has happened countless times, but I don't go out with that thought in mind. Maybe these people didn't either. There was a big galoot that looked incredibly unevolved in his white Ray Wylie Hubbard t-shirt and his stupid potato chip straw cowboy hat with black magic marker scribblings all over it, presumably of "important" stars and pinned with enamel pins of the Texas flag and silver stars. Incongruously, he wore Tommy Hilfiger jeans. Boy, nothing says TEXAS like Tommy Hilfiger on a mouth-breather's fat ass. Mr. Galoot was interesting enough to watch as he drank too many Shiners and wore a trail into the wooden floor on his way to the bathroom, but Mr. Galoot's date, skinny trailer girl, was way gone drinking a big bottle of wine. At first I thought Mr. Galoot might have scored good for the night because she was thin and blond, but when I saw her from the front I realized there is a big difference between thin and skinny and a difference between blond and stringy, too. Trailer girl had no consciousness of the show she was seeing, I could tell. Every so often she would stumble onto her feet and then, interestingly, cross the dancefloor, which was all set up with chairs, by scooching down across the legs of eight or so people. By going four rows up she could have crossed at the front of the room, or going maybe five more rows back, she could have crossed behind the chairs, but everytime she went she disturbed a whole row of people without a single excuse me. I'm surprised she didn't land in a few laps each trip.

Mr. Galoot also had a close relative sitting in front of me in a Texas A&M shirt and a HUGE black hat that he frequently bobbed back and forth or picked it up and rearranged it on his fat head so that it better blocked my view.

Sigh. I would like to see the Acoustin Motel tour in a motel. I'm not looking for an "encounter"--I love Jack and he's hot as a firecracker, but that's not what I mean. I just would love to hear these songs and these stories in silence and in their full glory. The new CD of the tour at least was recorded in a quiet place in Lubbock and can give the feeling of what it might be if I weren't surrounded by rudeness.