Sunday, December 30, 2007


Catherine and I had a time in Lubbock ranging from fairly rocking to liverally apocalyptic (yes, that’s a new adverb, my liver caught all manner of revelation, as you are about to see listed). Best just to take it one night at a time.

FRIDAY (12/21/07)
We arrive in Lubbock and make our first stop at the Grand Opening of McGilliguddy’s, an Irish sports bar just started up by an old school buddy of ours who I’ve known for twenty years. Great to see Mom, Dad, and Brett. Had a double Jack and a couple glasses of wine before getting dropped off by the wives for four hours of accelerated debauchery at the Spoon watching Dangerous Dan Earnest tear it up with Dad’s first (or second?) client ever on bass, one Glen Birch, and local stalwart Robert Smith on drums. I only remember the first two rounds of Jack but am told there were several more. I do recall taking my first chug off a new bottle of Lone Star with such gusto that all 12 oz. seemed to be missing. Brett and I got up and sat in with the band and crushed an Albert King tune in C along with Whipping Post. Concluded the night getting dragged down the hall to bed by both parents protesting that I had to hang out with my little brother, then apologizing to the wife that they were so loud. A fine beginning.

Missed the AM, obviously. Watched LOST 3.7 with Brett. Accompanied Dad and Brett jewelry shopping for Mom. Catherine ducked in to give her opinion after shopping with her father. Went to Uncle Mark’s house for an extended family party that went from maybe 6-10. Stayed away from the brown, but rocked the red, easily killed a bottle myself before coming home to hang out with Brett and Stew. We killed a case of Lone Star and ________

Another slow opening of the day. Picked up the sister-in-law from the airport and had dinner with the Millers at a deserted Chili’s, deserted like we were in a Stephen King novel. Really amazing steak and portabella fajitas, almost gave me hope for the onslaught of viral corporate strangulation upon our fine country. Then off to the Spoon for the regular Sunday Blues Jam, which was apeshit. Brett and I pounded Jack and Shiner like Christmas would never come from the moment we walked in the door. Got to get up and play with Johnny & the Trundlers (Chris, Blake & JT) for the first time since ’04 and we just fucking crushed it, hit Lemon Song (Led Zeppelin) Up In Arms (Foo Fighters) and Whipping Post (Allman Bros.) like we were still playing 50 gigs a year. Muscular. So great to make music with those fools. Then Brett got up, JT stayed up, and the great John Sprott took the stage for us to lay down our customary funk/blues double shot of Cissy Strut (Meters) and Killing Floor (Willie Dixon). And we burned those down, as usual. Then bassist extraordinaire Sean Frankhauser took the stage in his Santa hat to sing Thank You Fallitinme Be Mice Elf (Sly & the Family Stone) to charming effect. Brett’s girl Laura had just landed and the three of us concluded late Sunday with the newest two Southparks that none had seen.

Johnny & the Trundlers in action.

The Bass Brothers.

MONDAY (12/24/07)
Went to church, sang some carols and hymns. Came home, opened presents, good times were had by all. Split a bottle of MacAllan with Brett. Watched THE LAST WALTZ here, stunning Scorsese doc of the last show by The Band. Brett’s road bible of late. Highly recommended.

Mom and Dad
Brett, Laura, Catherine and myself.

Mellow. Went over to Catherine’s grandfather’s for an early lunch and to open presents. Came back and got more presents from Santa Claus and had Thanksgiving Dinner with the family. Watched the EXTRAS Christmas special, which was impeccable, killer George Michael and Clive Owen bits adorning Gervais skewering of this celebrity-devouring culture we’ve evolved into. Late night, hit LOST 3.8-10 with Brett and Laura, one turned into three, you can’t turn it off. I enjoy drinking with Desmond David Hume.

Mucked about. Went shopping with Catherine and Mom and Dad, got lots of great clod-weather clothes for Vermont. Had a calzone from One Guy from Italy, the finest object to bear that name available. Watched more LOST with Brett and Laura. Slow night, so we went to Cricket’s to watch Plain Brown Wrapper, the local supergroup comprised of Sprott, Sean, JT and DG Flewellyn. Carbombs, Jack, Guinness and Shiners were consumed. The Night They Drove Ol’ Dixie Down was played. All was well.

(until we got home and a crack about who did a better drum fill on that tune, Levon Helm or Steve Gorman on the Black Crowes cover turned into a two hour fight between Brett and I, probably our first in twenty-odd years—at least this time the BB gun never came out)(Dad was up reading the paper before all was said and done. Fight concluded with drunken snuggling on the couch during aforementioned tune and the encore)

The cracks starting to show, obviously. Went and hung out with my boy Luis, saw his new house, talked about our comic. It was Mom and Dad’s 38th anniversary, so we went to the Frenchman’s Inn, this killer one-chef restaurant down the street, something of a tradition. Killer meal, great conversation.
Turned in early, everyone out by midnight. (which of course meant that Brett and I woke up at 4:45 and 5:30 respectively, wondering what was wrong)(ha, waking up at 4:45 AM is such an impossibility with Brett that he experienced crippling disorientation for entire seconds wondering who had turned out the Sun!) I stayed up until 10:30 and then finally dropped off for a few more hours, which oh wait means it’s___

Ran around all afternoon here, ate lunch at Tom & Bingo’s with Brett, was a VIP guest at my local comics store that wasn’t technically open, went and hung out with a gang of high school friends and played too much Guitar Hero III with a nephew, then gave the family a dry run of my Pynchon workshop for Vermont. They were suitably dismayed. Then had one of the best Dad steaks EVER (and those who have had one appreciate the caliber of that statement). Then Blake and Chris and Espino came over and, yeah, we killed a whole bottle of Vodka on Laura’s kickass pomegranate and dirty martinis before it was suddenly 3 and Brett and I had to sprint through the rest of the season of LOST, were slugging shots of Crown from the bottle until 5:30 for the crushing last scene that’s got me counting days even now.

Which made breakfast at the diner five hours later pretty wonderful, I wot.

Catherine and I got home last night pretty wrecked. Turned in early. Got up today on ten glorious hours of unaddled sleep. We double-featured Sweeney Todd and Juno and caught Texadelphia cheese steaks and now I guess I need to get back to work sprucing up my presentation, but that’s what we did. I’ll post some pics later.

No comments: