home again

Thursday we drove home - in the rain - what a surprise (not), rested a bit, then went out to an Alan Jackson concert. He's a Country Western singer. DH prefers that genre, and I appreciate that Alan Jackson is not ashamed to be sentimental. I wasn't sure what to expect, though. the last time I went to a Country event, it was a rodeo dance when I was 19. Buddy and his Buckaroos were playing. The air was thick with smoke. The lights were dim, the crowd was drunk, and the only people I knew were my twin brother and his girlfriend. She loaned me a red pair of wildly stylish red metalic lame' jeans and my butt looked like the moons of mars (fear and madness.) The jeans were slightly more uncomfortable than a boned and wired tightly laced corset, and they completely cut off circulation to nether regions. Luckily, I was so firmly packed into them that there wasn't any spare flesh for the local jerks to pinch. I got swatted on the butt so often that my cheeks went numb. I called Dad after an hour and asked him to come get me.

So, decades later, I really didn't know what to expect. No smoking because this IS the 21st century and we were in a public venue. And cowboys being cowboys, I knew there would be drinking. There was. Beer in glass bottles, even. Risky, that. And mixed drinks for wildly inflated prices. People still poured 'em down, though.

Lots of fancy boots and brand new white straw hats. There was one gal, in her mid to late fifties, unholstered (if you know what I mean,) wearing a Lycra Holstein-print mini dress and scarlet boots. Bossie, you have bagged out, there. Not a pretty sight. There were also some handsome mature cowboys in fancy yoked shirts and felt hats, with pressed jeans. Most of the young ladies wore jeans that were skin tight and low cut. Lots of plumber's cleavage. Does anyone find that attractive?

I'm really more into jazz and classical, so I was a bit surprised at how close to Rock and Pop the Country genre has come. I come from the age of Gene Autry, the Singing Cowboy, And The Sons of the Pioneers. The warm-up act was a female singer with relationship issues. One of her songs says, "What are little girls made of? Gunpowder and lead. I'm gonna load my shotgun and show HIM some fun!" Her Bass player had his head shaved except for a crest about an inch wide and a foot tall, bisecting his skull from front to back. I guess you could call it a mohawk? How do you sleep on that hairstyle?

Alan Jackson came on and was quite enjoyable. The screens behind him showed warm and engaging pictures with occasional close-ups of him or his band members. Unfortunately, everyone in our section insisted on standing to watch him, and we were in the midst of behemoths, so we saw almost nothing of the performer himself. DH was next to a guy who was about 6'7" tall and at least two axehandles across the shoulders. We were sitting at the side of the arena, and had to turn sideways to see the stage. Except, we coudn't see the stage, because Jumbo there completely blocked our view. And he was drunk and flatulent. The music was very nice to listen to, but we left early.

Friday, DH went back to work, and I spent the day just hanging out and working on the final re-write of Sanna Meets Dauntless Swiftsure which should be coming out about August.

Today, DH is sleeping in, (poor tired boy) and I am astounded at how messy the house has gotten. You would think I have to keep it picked up constantly for it to look tidy! I blame it on the cats.