I should’ve been more worried about Friday the 13th, but I wasn’t. After what the last few days have been like, I just couldn’t work myself into a frenzy. Or even a cold sweat. I did “glisten” at one point, fresh in from a work out, and I summarily got kicked out of my neighbor’s trailer for “trying to look like a bronze he–man.” I was just attempting to scavenge something to eat and drink — being true to the character created after me. Two very Texas things occurred yesterday. One, I finally got around to seeing “Hands on a Hard Body” which is not a piece of fiction, and it’s not something that could ever be scripted; however, it’s a wonderful window into the ways and peoples of East Texas. It’s a brilliant movie, and I could wax poetic about it’s verisimilitude, the documentary accuracy, the real characters, or even just make one point and compare it to some of the more violent “real” TV episodes, like “Cops” and “Springer.” The film is done in Longview. Last time I was there, Motel Six cost $5.95 for a night. Doesn’t look like a lot has changed.
It was a special Leo’s birthday this weekend. Elaine was having a “get together” at the legendary “Broken Spoke” on South Lamar, just around the corner from Shady Acres. Several of the party’s members were absolutely shocked that I had never been to the Spoke. It’s not like I’ve been avoiding the place, I just never seemed to get around to catching a show there. Between the movie and the rest of the afternoon, I never had a chance to change clothes, either. I mean, it’s not like I was going to drag out my “boot scootin'” attire for a summer’s evening. I did have on a special Shakespeare hat, though, that would be Shakespeare Fishing Equipment — the hat was from a Virgo and that hat came all the way from Waco. I had on shorts, a simple linen shirt and sandals. Dinner at the Spoke was sumptuous, “If you’re getting the double cheeseburger, let me know so I can notify the hospital for a cardiac case…” Yeah, thanks buddy. The meal was great, and Elaine passed me a few bites of her Chicken Fried Steak. That’s the way it’s supposed to be done. Period. In the dance hall in the back, the band playing was Gary P. Nunn. To be really honest, the last time (I think) I saw him was when he was doing backup for Jerry Jeff in 1975. The second set had his perennial favorite “London Homesick Blues” as I grabbed the birthday girl and headed to the dance floor. That one song, after all this time, an anthem for me, captures more poignant emotions, a little bit of a loss, a little bit of melancholy sadness, and a an astounding revelation that I really don’t dance country and western too well. A little bit later, me and another fellow were trying our best to do the Cotton Eyed Joe with the birthday girl. I learned that there’s a secret to do this particular step with sandals on: avoid getting trampled by the line of folks in front of you. And really watch out when some girl in black shorts joins that line in front of you — it can really screw up the timing of you and your friends.