I have a specific procedure that I adhere to when I fly. I take off the Leatherman Wave that I always wear at my hip, along with the knife I normally carry in my pocket and put them in my checked luggage bag. I don a baseball cap and the clearly-visible white iPod headphones the moment I hit the seat in the airplane to prevent strangers from somehow getting the idea that I want to talk to them. Oh, I can’t ever be seated by a normal person. You know, the one who says Hi! How are you? and Nice weather we’re having lately. No, I invariably get seated next to “The Sarge”, a character straight out of The Big Book of Cinematic Stock Characters who turns his steely gaze on me and quietly informs me that he used to jump out of ‘copters’ in ‘Nam’, and continues to stare at me after making this awkward proclamation. It dawns on me. This flight is going
…to take
for-
-everrrrrr.
Not wanting to be the first thing Howlin’ Mad Murdock sees when his Agent Orange starts acting up, I usually pull the cap over my face to feign sleeping and hope against hope that the iPod headphones will be the blazing “Don’t talk to me” visual cue that I so desperately want them to be. This time, though, I flew Southwest. You should always fly Southwest. You can steer yourself away from Crazy-Eyes Jones with the ocular twitch and toward Bookish Betty who’s already too absorbed in her latest Jodi Picoult to notice your arrival. I was able to sit next to band members the whole way this time, a surprisingly pleasant experience. I still went numb from the butt down due to the airplane seating being about as comfortable as a Guantanamo-style stress position. At least the humorous pre-flight banter by the attendants was a welcome change of pace from the usual airline I-Hate-My-Job safety speeches.
So, the Parthenon it is. Day unknown. I won’t elaborate.
Tour ends October 25th, officially. Practically speaking, it’s over already. We have only a few shows left spread out over the next two months. I’ve already announced to Bandit my intent to return to work next week. (A depressing prospect to be sure – not so much the “return to Bandit” part as the “no longer on the road” part.) I still am looking forward to the two-night Casino Rama run…the technology there promises to keep me challenged and entertained for a good 48 hours straight. I know I’ll find something after this, and I’ve been told several times that when the next Terri Clark tour goes out I’ll be welcome to be the LD for that, too. So in the meantime, I wait for the next tour, whether that is with TC or not. But waiting…is hard.
My time off has finally afforded me the opportunity to do something I’ve needed to do for a while – find a new place to live. And so I have, a house populated by four other guys not terribly far from my current apartment. It’s going to cost a good $150 less per month to live there, and it will be nice to not spend so much time alone. The location is what I would describe as “perfectly idyllic suburbia”, so not exactly fantastic in terms of location, but workable. Less distance to the interstate, no more being annoyed by the neighbor’s yappy dog (I have to resist the urge to break in and strangle the despicable beast on a minute-by-minute basis.) or being woken up at the ungodly hour of 09:00 on a Saturday by an army of overeager lawnmowing personnel.
Dark Knight is an excellent film. Do go see it. Wanted is a very horrible film. Do not go see it. As soon as I find some children to borrow, I’ll go see WALL-E, and I will let you know how it was.
Exit, stage left.
Sparks